Till Death Do Us Part
by Belladelias
Summary: Follows the tale of Anadelias Lightwarder, a powerful paladin who endures the worst and becomes what he hates and must learn to accept what has happened to him. His wife, unaware of his fall, sets out to find him no matter what the cost. -Pre Cata-
1. Ambush

**Till Death Do Us Part**

_**Chapter I**_

**A**nadelias Lightwarder trudged his way through the mist laden forest. The pestilent stench of death hung heavily in the air, as it usually did in these woods. The corrupted Plaguelands were not a place for the weak stomached. Even veterans of the Third War sometimes had problems with the smell whilst on their patrols. Thanks to the ingenuity of Anadelias' wife, he never had a problem with the smell. She had created a small charm that he could wear around his neck with her minor enchanting skills. When worn, the necklace gave an aura that smelt of freshly bloomed purple lotuses, thus negating most noxious smells.

As Anadelias continued on, a not-so-distant cracking noise broke the silence.

His patrol partner, another veteran paladin and long time friend by the name of Gavrin the Stout, turned to him with a wary look on his face. "What was that?" He glanced around at the similarly twisted and deformed trees trying to deduce where the noise had come form.

"Keep walking." Anadelias replied, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "They're trying to surround us."

Gavrin let out a small snort. "Bloody repetitive undead, why can't they make it interesting for a change?"

A small chill ran up Anadelias' back as they drew closer to the small clearing they usually stopped at for a rest on their patrol. "I think you might just get your chance today. Be ready."

Gavrin turned to Anadelias with a look of frustration. "Bah! A round at the tavern says it won't be."

Without skipping a beat, Anadelias retorted with a "you're on" and kept his attention directed forward.

He took no more than two steps forward before something shattered underfoot with a sharp crunch. A puzzled look crossed Anadelias' face. Normally in the Plaguelands, things made a wet, squelching sound when they were stepped on. He looked down to see that he had stepped on a weed, but for some inexplicable reason it had been frozen, explaining the crunch when he had stepped on it.

"Here, what do ya make of this?" he asked Gavrin.

Gavrin turned and kneeled next to the broken weed to examine it. He poked it with his finger before reaching his conclusion. "I've never seen anything like it in me life." He stood and looked around before something caught his eye. "Now, I'm no apothecary, but I'd wager it has something to do with that." Gavrin said, pointing to a tree branch that had several icicles hanging from it.

A concerned frown grew on Anadelias' face. "This is very strange."

Turning back to Gavrin, he noticed that the forest had now grown conspicuously darker around them, prompting him to action. Grabbing the spell book hanging from his waist, he opened it and flipped through several pages before he found what he wanted. Uttering a few words, the effect was instant; a great flash of light lit the surrounding area, throwing shadows behind trees and illuminating the paladin with an aura of light. The wispy mist that that been swirling about started to retreat from the bright light, almost as if it was trying to hide from it. Several shrouded figures that were close by made hissing noises when in the light and they retreated to the safety of the darkness.

"I got a bad feeling about this Gav, keep your eyes sharp and your hammer ready."

Gavrin merely grunted an acknowledgment in return.

Anadelias led the way, lighting the forest around them, which thankfully also kept the mysterious fog at bay, further increasing their vision. The more they advanced towards the clearing ahead, the more the temperature dropped. When the two paladins made it to their usual clearing, the temperature had dropped drastically. Mist started to escape from their mouths every time they breathed out, giving them an indication of how cold the area was around them.

"Ana, its colder here than bloody Northrend!" Gavrin complained.

Before Anadelias could answer, an evil, echoed laugh cut through the woods. Both paladins looked around to see where the laughter was coming from but could see nothing beyond the range of Anadelias' light.

"Actually, Northrend is somewhat colder than this." A hollow, almost ethereal sounding voice answered.

A figure cloaked in shadow just beyond the lit tree line stirred and began to move towards them. The mist followed and wrapped itself around the figure and swirled about, roiling along at the same pace. Then, when they stepped into the light and the mist stayed behind, unable to follow into the light, was the mysterious person revealed.

He was male, with a muscular build and stood of average height, clad in a set of dark blue, almost black armour from head to toe like an armoured carapace. Vicious spikes protruded from the large armoured pauldrons on his shoulders and there were skull patterns emblazoned all over the rest of his armour. The ground where he stepped iced over, creating a path of frozen boot-shaped patches behind him. Standing now no more than ten meters from the bewildered paladins, they finally realised who had been talking to them: a Death Knight of the Scourge.

"You've came a long way just to die, ya Scourge filth!" Shouted Gavrin, his voice filled with contempt.

"And you have a lot to learn of manners, paladin." The death knight condescended.

"What business do you have here dark one? Your kind has not been seen around here for some time." Inquired Anadelias.

"Nothing that I shall reveal to you." With that said the death knight reached behind him and started to unsheathe his weapon. Anadelias and Gavrin looked on as he removed the massive sword.

The death knight thrust the runeblade's tip into the ground, almost as if showing it off to the two paladins. It stood over five feet tall and mist rolled off the wicked looking blade. Its razor-sharp edge and smooth surface made it seem almost elegant in appearance and was a startling contrast to the jagged runes that were carved deep into the blade. The runes themselves ran from tip to hilt and they seemed to glow with a faint blue light, almost as if emitting the chill of Northrend itself.

Gavrin looked to the death knight and shouted, "Before we purge ya from the land, what's yer name, filth?"

The death knight looked upon the paladin with disdain. "My name is Lord Soulbane, and it shall be last time you hear it!" Soulbane lifted his runeblade into the air and shouted a "For the Lich King" moments before the undead that were lurking behind him erupted from the shadowed tree line, rushing forward, some of them even charging on all fours in a frenzy to rip the holy warriors to shreds.

"For the Light!" was all Anadelias could manage to say before the wave of undead broke against the paladins. Gavrin's hammer swung left then right, smashing clean through rotting arms and decaying skulls. Unnaturally sharp nails clawed against his plate armour, snapping and breaking, unable to penetrate the thick truesilver. A quick thrust with the top of the hammer crushed a soft, unprotected ghoul torso, stopping it mid-step and Gavrin grunted with satisfaction as it toppled over, never to rise again.

With his grip never loosening and his focus never wavering, Gavrin held of the horde of animated flesh and bone at bay, never giving them ground.

Anadelias, while just as proficient with his hammer as Gavrin was with his, preferred to smite his foes with the power of the Light. Lowering his hammer, he slowly recited a few solemn, well-versed words and suddenly the ground beneath them was almost as bright as the sun itself. The consecrated ground was deadly to the undead unfortunate enough to be on it at the time. From their feet to their heads, they burnt to ash and were blown away in the cold breeze that cut through the woods.

An enterprising ghoul tried to jump down from a nearby tree branch onto Anadelias but just as it clawed at his shoulder armour, tiny golden lightning bolts arced to the attacker, cutting it to pieces.

Anadelias quickly whispered a small prayer to the Light, thanking it that its retribution was with him today.

Refocusing on the battle, the paladin stretched his arm outward with his hand pointing at a shambling zombie. He began to chant particular verses from the holy book that hung at his waist, knowing them by heart and having used them many times in the past. Every time he pointed at a different undead, his hand would glow with the golden hue of the Light and the undead would be caught in a searing holy fire and obliterating it instantly. Moving from undead to undead, Anadelias cut down the remaining horrors with ease. Gavrin crushed a few zombies that still persistently crawled along the ground with his mighty hammer and before long the only one that was left was the unmoving Death Knight, who was now alone on the battlefield.

Gavrin used his gloved hand to wipe off some on the zombie that had stuck to his hammer. "Hah, if that's the best ya got, you'd best be running away with yer tail firmly between yer legs while ya still can, filth." Gavrin said smugly.

Anadelias heaved his hammer onto his shoulder and it began to emanate a bright, holy light. "Surrender now, Soulbane, and I shall grant you a quick and merciful death."

Soulbane sneered at Anadelias' proposal. "Oh, should I get down on my knees and await my execution?" He looked at each of them individually. "I think you are both overestimating yourselves" he scoffed, confident in himself.

"So be it" Gavrin said, tightening his grip. He charged forward, hammer in the air, ready for a powerful swing.

Anadelias watched as his friend ran forward and frowned as he felt the ground begin to rumble. Having a good idea what this meant, he shouted after Gavrin. "Stop, it's a trap!"

Gavrin, already mid-charge was unable to stop in time as the ground exploded to his immediate left, a column of dirt and grass flying into the air, throwing him to the ground. From the hole, a crypt fiend burst forth, it claws raking at the ground where Gavrin had just been.

"Bloody hell!" Shouted a surprised Gavrin. He tried to shuffle backwards and get to his feet, but the agile crypt fiend was already on top of him, pinning him down with its front two legs.

Gavrin was able to move around enough to dodge the first thrust, but his reflexes proved to be his undoing as he moved right into the path of the second. The blessed truesilver breastplate that had protected him for years, thick as it was, was no match for the burrowing-hardened claws of the crypt fiend and they pierced the plate and sunk deep into his chest. His vision started to blur and go hazy. The last thing Gavrin saw was the head of the fiend burst into holy flame and disintegrate before everything turned to black.

"_NOOOO_" Anadelias shouted as he saw the claws sink into Gavrin's chest. He let forth with a burst of holy energy, instantly killing the beast and watched its twitching body fall to the ground. For a second he stood there, stunned, not wanting to believe what he just saw. He took a step forward, then another and finally broke into a run towards Gavrin's now still body. Coming to a stop beside his friend he dropped to his knees, his hammer falling to the red-brown dirt with a loud thump. He took Gavrin's head and cradled it in his hands. "No…no, no, no." A tear ran down his cheek and landed in the dry dirt, which greedily absorbed it.

"Such a waste of great potential." Soulbane said in a tone that rang of false sympathy.

Anadelias' grief and sorrow quickly turned to anger and manifested itself as vengeance upon hearing the death knight's hollow voice. Gently lowering Gavrin's head to the ground, he turned and drew himself to his full height.

"You."

"Me?" Answered Soulbane, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes you." Anadelias snapped.

"I can't see-" A horse whinnying in the distance made him pause mid-sentence. "-why you would blame me for_ his _recklessness."

"You will pay for this dark act. There was no honour in what you did. I swear, with the Light as my witness, I will destroy you Lord Soulbane, Death Knight of the Scourge."

An arrogant Soulbane sneered at Anadelias. "If you think you can best me boy you are sorely mistaken" Soulbane raised his runeblade and adopted a defensive posture upon seeing the paladin bearing down on him with a vigour unsurpassed.

Anadelias left forth a mighty rage filled shout as he brought up his hammer from the side for a powerful uppercut. Soulbane brought his runeblade up and in a practiced movement deflected the warhammer just enough that it would swing short. Anadelias used the remaining momentum to twirl his hammer behind him then above for a powerful downward blow. Soulbane saw it coming and moved back just in time to watch the bright hammer fly through the air in front of him where he stood no more than a millisecond ago.

Seeing an opportunity, the death knight went on the offensive, swinging his runeblade from the side and up. The attack would have raked Anadelias from his waist to shoulder but he brought his hammer up in a block just in the nick of time. Soulbane followed through with another quick thrust aimed at his stomach, but Anadelias battered the runeblade aside.

Soulbane merely grunted in retort. "Come paladin; see if you can really best me."

Suddenly, the runes on his blade glowed bright blue and the temperature dropped a few degrees as mist once again roiled from the runeblade. The blue hue from the runes started to grow, moving over the surface of the blade and before long they encompassed the whole weapon.

Quickly, Anadelias raised his hammer, ready for the next attack, not having to wait long for it.

Soulbane took a stride forward and feinted to the right and Anadelias moved to block it just as he intended. With a speed that belied him, the death knight twisted the blade and swung it in the opposite direction, straight towards the exposed side of Anadelias.

Only years of combat experience saved him from receiving a killing blow. The paladin twisted his body with the runeblade, the golden armour deflecting the majority of the blow. One of the jagged edges of the runeblade still pierced his side and grazed the skin underneath. The intense pain that followed was the worst that Anadelias had ever felt. It was as if someone had impaled him with a spear of pure ice from the glaciers of Northrend and was pushing it deeper and deeper into him. A small gasp escaped his lips and he tried to bear the pain spreading throughout his body. Unable to do so, he dropped to a knee and clutched his side.

Soulbane looked down upon him, a look of twisted pity upon his face. "The pain, it is eating away at you, gnawing at your resolve. Even now, with the vaunted Light at your beck and call, you cannot stop it. The fever of frost will consume you whole, leaving nothing but a broken, frozen husk."

Anadelias gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate through the freezing pain. "I gave you an opportunity to surrender before and I am giving you one last chance to do so now."

An astonished look crossed Soulbane's face for a second before he suppressed it with a malicious smile.

"Now why would I do that? You are kneeling before me, beaten and at my mercy! Soon you will be dead and yet you seek _my_ surrender?"

Anadelias spoke through clenched teeth. "I have given you two chances and you have refused both."

"So then pray do tell, o holy one, how will you save yourself and manage to defeat me?" Soulbane asked, his voice dripping of mockery.

Still down on one knee, Anadelias flinched in pain before responding. "The Holy Light rewards me with its use through my will, and my faith." He lowered his head, the strain of speaking clearly taking its toll.

Soulbane laughed at paladin before him and his hollow, echoic voice seemed to come from everywhere at the same time. "You are dying, paladin. The light of which you speak of so fondly has abandoned you! Nothing in your power will save you!"

A faint smile crossed Anadelias' face, unseen by Soulbane. "You are wrong, for I shall always have…my…FAITH!" As he shouted that last word, a bright, golden light exploded into existence, emanating from the paladin and blinding the death knight. As Anadelias began to rise from the ground, the golden light washed over his arms and legs and he stood upright, cleansed of the death knight's foul disease.

Unable to look directly at the paladin, Lord Soulbane threw an arm across his face to shield his eyes from the brightness. After several seconds he could tell the light was subsiding and lowered his arm to see what had happened. Before him saw a sight he had never seen before.

Anadelias stood erect, hammer in hand - glowing vibrantly with a golden-yellow hue. The bright light that had blinded the death knight now bathed the paladin and it almost looked as if he was wrapped in a faint sheet of pure light. The strangest thing of all that Soulbane could see was that somehow, the paladin who was near-death a second ago now had a pair of golden wings coming out of his back and extending above his head.

Soulbane's eyes widened as he realised that they too, were made of the same golden light that bathed the holy warrior. "No…it can't be…"

Anadelias wasted no time to talk and took two steps forward and swung his hammer at the death knight's shoulder.

A runeblade met him halfway and the blow was averted. Anadelias went in low for a crushing blow to the knees, but again, a runeblade blocked his path – exactly as he had hoped. Moving with a speed that was only possible due to the golden light that was still wreaking havoc with Soulbane's vision, he brought his right foot up, then down onto the broadside of the tip of the runeblade, driving it deep into the dirt and pining it there under his plate boot. Before Soulbane could free the blade, Anadelias raised him hammer above his head and brought it down with all his might onto the runeblade. Unable to withstand the momentum of the blessed warhammer, the runeblade broke into several pieces, letting out not a loud crack of broken metal, but a spine-chilling banshee-like screech.

As an astonished Soulbane stared at the broken runeblade pieces on the ground, he could see the runes' blue glow slowly fading to nothing as the hue dissolved altogether leaving only a dull, broken blade.

Rage welled up inside him as he heard the runeblade's death-wail repeat over and over inside his head. Shadows began to coalesce in his balled fists. Purple energy began to flare from the pulsating shadows as Soulbane drew upon the unholy magic that empowered him.

"You will pay for your transgression!" His voice had changed; it was now deeper and had the chill of winter about it.

Charging at Anadelias, Soulbane extended his arms and went straight for the throat. A hammer strike from now where suddenly came down upon his left arm, breaking it immediately with a sickening crack of splintered bones and crushed armour. Soulbane opened his mouth and let forth a bestial howl. The attack did not deter him in the slightest but merely provoked him further.

With his left arm hanging limply at this side, his right hand clasped the exposed throat of the paladin just under the chin. His hand, although surrounded by dark, unholy magic, still started to burn from the golden light that ensorcelled Anadelias. But the pain did not deter him in the slightest and he saw only a dark rage that would not be quenched until this damnable holy warrior lay dead before him.

So focused was he on crushing the life from the paladin with his own hand, that he did not see the hammer come up from below and hit him right in the elbow until it was too late. He suddenly lost all control of his hand and the fingers that were attached to the throat of the paladin started to pull back as his broken arm fell away. One of his fingers however, still frozen in their claw-like state, caught the band of the charm around Anadelias' neck and it snapped under the pressure. The charm fell to the ground and hit the dirt, undamaged. Soulbane staggered backward, several emotions flickered on his face at the same time, leaving him with an unreadable expression.

Moving silently, Anadelias brought his hammer out wide and then swung in, connecting with a hard crunch against Soulbane's skull-patterned armour and into his stomach. He flew backwards from the blow and landed hard against the plagued trunk of a nearby tree.

Anadelias gave him no quarter and was on him in a heartbeat. Before Soulbane could prop himself up, Anadelias stood with one foot on his chest to make sure he couldn't get away and leant down and put one hand on each side of the death knight's pale head.

"What do you think you are doing?" Soulbane said in an almost frightened tone.

Anadelias looked directly at him; his gaze bore straight into Soulbane's black, empty eyes.

"I am righting a wrong." Just as he finished his sentence, his hands began to glow with holy energy.

"Aaarrrggghh! It…burns!" Soulbane writhed in pain and tried to free himself, but Anadelias held fast, his determination to avenge his friend giving his hands an iron grip from which there was no escape.

"Stop it! Stop…it…NOW!" Shouted the death knight as the holy energy from Anadelias began to flow through him.

Anadelias replied unflinchingly with a dead serious voice. "Never."

Unrecognisable sounds came from Soulbane's mouth as the pain and heat increased. His screams were becoming louder and more feral. He clenched his teeth, trying to brace through the pain, but to no avail. He opened his mouth and let out an intense, animal-like howl as the holy fire coursing through him erupted from the opening in his armour at his neck. His mouth and eyes glowed like small golden suns as Soulbane screamed to the sky. What was once his face was now a seared skull; the fire had burnt away the dead flesh. The majority of his lower jaw had been disintegrated and only by the grace of heat fusing together what was left had it remained attached.

With the deed done, Anadelias finally stood up and let go of the charred, empty skull. It lifelessly slumped backward, never to rise again. He took a few steps back and let out a massive sigh as he let his shoulders drop. A light rain had begun to fall and he closed his eyes and looked to the sky, letting the raindrops softly patter against his face. After a few precious seconds of peace and serenity, the holy glow that had bathed his body and given him the golden wings of wrath gradually subsided and faded away. He turned back to the clearing to pick up his fallen charm and was met with a sight he least expected and felt a sharp pain in his chest.

Before him stood the self-declared ruler of Stratholme, Baron Rivendare.


	2. Servitude

_**Chapter II**_

**B**aron Rivendare wore an arrogant smirk on his face - and with good reason. Anadelias stared at him for a second before registering his outstretched arm which held a red-tinged runeblade, the last foot of which had pierced his breastplate. The sharp pain, in his chest - it was the blade, Anadelias realised. It had gone through his armour and wedged itself in his heart. The slightest movement on either man's part would kill him.

Behind the Baron, his mount – an armoured skeletal warhorse – let out a whiney that almost sounded like a sadistic laugh to Anadelias' ears.

"Baron…Rivendare…" Anadelias forced the words out despite his wound and his better judgement.

"Paladin." Rivendare replied curtly with a nod.

A puzzled look crossed Anadelias' face. "How did…you…"

Rivendare did not need to hear the rest of the question. "I had intended to come here with Lord Soulbane but I was delayed. He did not wait and foolishly went ahead of me. I caught up when I could. Simple as that."

Anadelias frowned. "But…why?" A small trickle of blood began to seep from his chest wound.

An evil smile slowly crept across the Baron's face. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Humour me…" rasped Anadelias.

"We came out here specifically for you, Anadelias. We've been watching you for sometime now, looking on in earnest as your powers grew, thinking of the day you become a great champion for the Scourge."

Anadelias looked at Rivendare in disgust. "I will never…serve you, never!"

"I had come to the same conclusion. So therefore, I borrowed the services of a powerful death knight to help me subdue you." He glanced over to the body of Soulbane "Lord Soulbane has more or less served his purpose. By killing him, you proved to me that you were worthy of ascending to be my champion within the Scourge."

"The Light…will never…allow it." staggered Anadelias.

Rivendare raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think that, paladin?"

"Because I still…have…" Anadelias coughed up a mouthful of blood and spat it out "…my faith."

"Your faith has no say in this." And with that, Rivendare flicked his wrist and twisted the blade ninety degrees.

Anadelias tried to scream but the only noise that came out was a feeble sound that sounded like a cross between a groan and a gargle. He balled his fists and his eyes clenched shut from the pain and he instinctively knew he did not have long left in this world.

Rivendare used the blade to slowly force Anadelias down.

The paladin dropped to his knees with a deep thud that reverberated throughout his golden plate armour.

Rivendare slowly pulled the blade out of the paladin's chest. Upon seeing the blood on the end of the runeblade, he frowned and remarked, "I'll have to get the squire to clean that off."

Anadelias coughed up more blood and spat it aside as best he could. His blood had now started to run freely down the gaping hole in his golden armour and all the way down his torso and leg, forming a small pool at his knees.

He managed to raise a now shaking hand and put it to his chest as if to stop the bleeding but he pulled it back and saw it covered with his mortality, his blood. He resigned to the fact that not even the Light could save him now.

As black started to creep into his eyesight, he craned his neck and saw the Baron standing over him, looking down at his broken, dying body.

"Goodbye, Anadelias" was all the Baron said, looking back down at Anadelias.

Blackness now started to close in all around him. Anadelias was unable to maintain his balance and collapsed over backwards, lying in a crumpled heap on the hard, blood-stained dirt. With what little vision he had left, he could see the sky through the tree's foliage. The clouds were starting to disperse and reveal some of the blue sky trying to breaking through. He closed his eyes and let his last thoughts drift to his wife and saw her face one final time before everything went black and he let the cold dark of death embrace him.

Rivendare looked down at the paladin lying on the ground without a pang of sympathy or regret or any emotion at all. He was devoid of feelings on the matter. After a minute the man in the golden armour finally bled out and died.

"You would have been more powerful alive and converted than you would have been if I had of raised you in undeath." The Baron said to himself. "No matter."

Raising his red runeblade so it pointed straight at Anadelias' body, it flared to life with dark purple unholy energy. Arcs of magic danced across the blade as the necrotic energy built up with each passing second. Before long, the dark energy swelled all over the runeblade, pulsating with malevolent intent.

Baron Rivendare thrust out his chin and adopted a regal tone. "Now paladin, you shall rise and serve me."

The necrotic energy billowed from his runeblade and enveloped itself around the dead paladin's body, sitting there like a heavy morning fog. Almost imperceptibly, the dead muscles began to twitch. As the dark energy seeped into the skin, more and more of the muscles started to move and flex, as if testing themselves for the first time. Hands clenched and arms stretched while legs bent and ankles rolled. It looked more like a spasm or a convulsion rather than the dark rebirth that it was. Slowly but surely, they started to slow and then stop. Then, like someone coming out of a deep sleep, the eyes flew open, darting up, down, left and right, taking in all the sights around them.

Letting out a deep, guttural moan, he began to slowly rise from the ground. The battered armour creaked as he stood, almost as if it was trying to protest against the unholy deed. Now standing upright, his jaw began to work itself as if trying to say something, but no sound was coming out. An audible click of bone-on-bone was heard and then his jaw stopped moving. He grunted in approval. Then, turning to the figure clad in black, regal-like armour before him, he spoke his first words.

"You have raised me." He said, making it sound like a question and a statement at the same time.

Baron Rivendare looked at his newest recruit with a smile that seemed out of place on a face like his. "You are most welcome."

A frown formed on the dead paladin's brow and then quickly disappeared. "I do not have a name yet." As he spoke, the remains of his lungs escaped his mouth in a green and brown vapour, granting him a menacing look.

Rivendare cocked his head slightly as he inspected the man, eyeing him up and down and then settling his gaze upon the two unblinking orbs in his head and held them there as if staring into his very being.

"You will become a great Champion of the Scourge and strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, I can see it. Yet, there is something else, something…" his eyes narrowed "…leftover. It is barely perceptible, but I can sense it."

The recently raised undead shifted on the spot, waiting for the Baron to continue.

The Baron took a step forward. "It's…sadness." His eyes widened in surprise. "There is a lingering sadness in you that you refuse to let go of in undeath."

The undead paladin started to make a noise in the back of his throat that signified his displeasure at being verbally dissected.

Clearing his throat and continuing, Rivendare moved on. "Very well then, henceforth, you shall be known as Dreadsorrow." His pale, aristocratic face cracked another smile. "I know you will become a powerful death knight in the service of the Lich King."

Having given Dreadsorrow a name, Rivendare sheathed his runeblade, turned on his heel and walked back over to his waiting steed.

He mounted up and looked over to Dreadsorrow. "I will meet you back at the Slaughterhouse in Stratholme. I'm sure you can find your own way there, I would be sorely disappointed if you couldn't."

Kicking his heels deeply into the side of the skeletal horse, it let out a hollow whiny and proceeded to gallop off into the plagued woods to the city of Stratholme, leaving Dreadsorrow alone in the clearing.

For a while, the newly christened death knight just stood there, unmoving, and silent. Eventually he raised his hands in front of him and stared at them. The pale, dead skin stretched across his hands uneasily as he flexed them. Turning his hands over, he splayed his fingers and closed his eyes. Ever so slightly, the air around his fingers them began to darken and shadowy energy started to emanate from them. Soon, purple flares of magic arced from his fingertips, dancing wildly across his palms. Suddenly, he snapped his hands shut into a fist and the dark energy dissipated. Letting out a long sigh that sounded more like annoyance than weariness, Dreadsorrow slowly opened his hands again. Turning them back over again, it was then that he noticed there was a small cut on his left hand. Seeing an opportunity to test his newly acquired powers, he moved his right hand over the top of his left and held it there.

Dreadsorrow closed his eyes and concentrated. In doing so, the shadowy energy once again started to swirl around his hand and purple arcs flared around his fingers. Focusing harder, he directed the unholy magic toward the cut on his hand. It seeped in, the skin and muscle around it absorbing the magic ravenously, like a fleshy sponge. Finishing the spell, he opened his eyes and moved his hand away. The results were unexpected to say the least. Instead of healing the wound, the unholy magic had made it worse, splitting the cut open further and making the skin fester around it. The muscle underneath fared worse as it had rotted and turned necrotic, giving it an unsightly black and red appearance.

Dreadsorrow made a noise of displease in the back of this throat as his frustration built up.

"What good is this magic if I cannot heal myself when wounded?" Dreadsorrow complained to himself. "All it does is rot me further, for all the good that will do" he sneered.

Looking back down to his hand, his anger released itself. "Why…won't…you…HEAL?"

As he shouted, a blinding golden flash appeared on his hand, forcing him to close his eyes and look away. It was the pain that followed the flash that forced him to scream in agony. The pain that made him feel like he was still alive and someone had thrown burning oil on his hand. Dropping to his knees and clenching his left arm, he screamed again before the pain started to subside. As quickly as it had come, it left, leaving his hand with a numb sensation that lingered on.

Dreadsorrow slowly opened his eyes and he saw the bright light was gone too. His right hand was still gripping his arm he realised before releasing it, leaving deep indentations where the fingertips had dug in. Then, cautiously, he turned the still numb hand in question over very slowly to inspect the damage. To his astonishment, there was none that he could see, in fact, it was the very opposite. The necrotic, rotted wound that was on his hand was no more – it was replaced by a small thin line running across his hand where the split used to be. _A scar!_ He thought to himself. He had been healed, not injured by the golden flash and it was then that he belatedly realised what had happened. Somehow, even in this unnatural, rotting body, he had called upon the power of the Holy Light to heal himself. It wasn't the pain of injury, but the pain of healing. Of course it had hurt so much, he wasn't alive anymore, he was undead, but the fact that the Light still answered his call astounded him.

Standing up, still staring at his now outstretched hand, he grunted in satisfaction. Having the Light answer his calls would help him greatly should he ever be severely wounded in battle. Although, he would have to do it alone and away from the prying eyes of the Scourge, this much he knew. If they were to discover his secret, no good would come if it. Also, he thought, he would have to practice control and be better prepared for the intense pain that accompanied it. But this was a train of thought for another day.

Surveying the scene before him, he stared at his predecessor, Soulbane, and then his gaze moved over to where Gavrin still lay. An unreadable emotion passed across his face briefly as he looked upon his former friend. Knowing that there was nothing here left for him, he let out a deep sigh and turned away.

Remembering that the pretentious Baron was still expecting him at Stratholme, Dreadsorrow set off in the direction that he had seen Rivendare ride away in.

For now, he was content to play the pet death knight. Sooner or later his day would come and on that day, the Scourge will know his terrible vengeance and that he answers to no one. For even in undeath, the Light answered his call, thus clearly marking his superiority, he mused.

As he left the clearing and entered the dark tree line, he let out a evil, echoed laugh that seem to be everywhere at once and it still carried through the air as he disappeared towards the ruined city of Stratholme.


	3. Loss

_**Chapter III**_

**S**he stood there, looking out the window and daydreaming, her thoughts in another place. She dreamed about what she would do with her husband when he came home. Her heart yearned as she envisioned the love of her life coming through the front door and embracing her in long, warm hug. She missed him dearly and he was always away for long periods of time with his job, but when he came home, the time they spent together felt like it lasted a lifetime and they were happy every second of it.

A smile crept onto her face as she started to remember how sometimes when he was home and it was a sunny day, they would go for a stroll in the woods. The sun would cut through the foliage, coming down in golden beams as if the Light itself was trying to make the day as memorable as possible.

It had certainly worked, as she fondly recalled, on one walk her husband said he had a surprise for her. Although she had tried her hardest to coax it out of him, he was adamant to keep it to himself until the last possible second. A couple minutes on, he asked her to close her eyes and she did, being led by him for the last few meters, turning here and there. When he said 'open', she was met with the most breathtaking sight. In front of her, there was a large oak; of which, the entire middle section had been turned into the most beautiful homage of love. At a loss for words, all she could do was run her soft hands over the delicately carved scene, wanting to touch it for herself, just to believe it was real. Slightly receded into the trunk, two intricately carved figures, one of her and one of him, stood facing each other, their hands holding, staring into each other's eyes. The amount of elaborate detail would have taken him years to complete. To the left and right of the scene, each in its own small alcove, a gold laced candle stood, burning softly. He had said that the candles represented their love for each other and they would burn for all eternity and neither wind nor rain or time would extinguish them, just like their love. To prove this, he tried to blow out one of the candles but it continued burning, unaffected, as if he had done nothing. She turned to him, still unable to speak and still half expecting to wake from a dream, and pulled him close. For a second, they mirrored the scene in the tree, before embracing each other in a long passionate kiss.

_How I wish I could go back to that day and – _Her thoughts were interrupted by a several loud knocks on the front door, perking up her mood instantly.

_He's home! My love is finally home!_ She ran to the front door in a mad rush to finally see her husband again after weeks of being alone. When she reached the front door, she undid the latch, swung open the heavy door and threw her arms around her beloved.

"I'm so glad you're back my love! I have missed you so much my dear, dear…" she pulled back to see his face but was shocked when she saw it wasn't who she thought it was "…Gavrin?"

Shock quickly turned to embarrassment as she realised she was still hugging him. She let go as her face turned red and took a step back.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't…mean…to…" Her voice trailed off when she actually saw the look plastered on the poor man's face. Her embarrassment quickly drained away and was replaced by concern. He wore a bleak grimace on a face that sang of grief. When she looked into his sunken eyes, all she saw was sorrow. It was that instant that she knew something was very, very wrong.

He took her hand in his and spoke very softly. "Elencia…" his voice broke, unable to continue.

"Gavrin" she started, "tell me, what's wrong?"

He started again. "Elencia, please, may I come in?"

"Of course, but leave your hammer at the door" she replied, ushering him in.

He thanked Elencia as he followed her in, closing the door behind him. As he placed his overly large and heavy warhammer down next to the door, it raised a puff of dust from the creaking floorboards, sounding like they were protesting under the weight.

He followed her to the kitchen where he saw she was about to have lunch. "I'm sorry if I have come at a bad time, but…"

"Nonsense, I always have time for a close friend." Elencia interrupted politely before he could finish. She told him to sit down as she gestured to a chair at the table. "Are you hungry? I always make extra and you do look like you could use a bite to eat."

"No, thank you." He replied quietly.

"Suit yourself. It's here if you change your mind." She went back to preparing lunch.

"Elencia, I need to talk to ya."

"I'm listening." She replied over her shoulder.

He sighed. "No lass, I need to talk to ya. Please…sit down."

She stopped what she was doing, turned around and took a seat at the table opposite him. "What is it Gav?" asked Elencia anxiously.

Gavrin reached across and gently took her small delicate hands into his. He swallowed and took a deep breath before speaking. "Elencia," he hesitated before continuing, choosing his words carefully. "Long ago I made a promise to ya, a promise that I have kept for a long time...until recently."

"What do you mean Gav?" Her voice filled with unease.

"When I took yer husband on his first patrol through the Plaguelands, ya made me promise I wouldn't let anything happen to him."

Elencia took a sharp breath and covered her mouth, her eyes beginning to moisten.

"I…have broken that promise lass. I've completely and utterly failed ya…" his voice broke again under the intense emotions. He looked at the woman sitting across from him. Judging by her face, she knew what he was about to say. He took another breath before continuing.

"Elencia, your husband…my best friend…is gone."

She started to shake her head slowly and manage a strained cry of anguish. He then spoke the words she had dreaded to hear, wishing he had not come to visit her at all this day.

"Anadelias is dead."

A sadden cry escaped from her mouth before she buried her face in her hands. Tears flowed freely, running down her cheeks and fingers. When she brought her face up again, her eyes were red and watery lines ran down her face. She openly wept as her body began to slowly rock back and forth. Gavrin quickly got up and knelt next to her with his arms open as cries of grief filled the house. She flung herself into them and buried her head in his shoulder. Gavrin gently put his arms around her and whispered soothing words of comfort in her ear.

After several minutes Gavrin noticed her crying had mostly stopped and was now just intermittent sobs.

"…Gavrin…" Elencia said softly, so soft in fact, he almost didn't hear it.

His bulky arms released her and she sat back in her chair and composed herself as best she could. Wiping the tears from her cheeks and straightening the creases from her dress, she looked back at him. "Tell me how he…" A single tear ran down her cheek.

"Take your time lass." Gavrin said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She continued despite her reluctance. "Tell me how he…died. Please?"

Gavrin, always the protector, hesitated before answering the question. "Are ya sure now?"

Elencia nodded in reply.

"Very well then. But before I do…" he said, looking around the kitchen. Finding what he was after, he got a glass from the bench and then poured her a nice brandy from the nearby cabinet, explaining to her that it would make her feel better.

She accepted his offer and took a sip. Contrary to what she had initially thought, it did help her feel somewhat better temporarily. "Thank you."

He dismissed her unnecessary thanks with a wave of his hand. "Now, if yer really sure ya want to know, I'll tell ya, but only if ya think ya can handle it."

Elencia pleaded to Gavrin, imploring him to tell her what happened to her husband.

"I'll tell ya what I can." He took a deep breath; clearly it was hard for even him to speak about it. "Six days ago on one of regular patrols we were ambushed, of sorts. A Scourge death knight confronted us and he set a horde of undead upon us. We destroyed them easily, but I believe it was just a ploy to let our overconfidence get the better us. Well, my overconfidence anyway. Ana knew it was a trap but I rushed in and was jumped by a bloody crypt fiend. It damn near killed me."

To prove his point, he lifted his wool shirt up to reveal a large, round patch of fresh scar tissue halfway up on the right of his chest. Elencia gasped and her eyebrows shot up in alarm when she saw this.

Pulling his shirt back down, Gavrin continued his story. "Luckily that was all the beast managed to do to me. If it wasn't for Ana's quick action, I wouldn't be here telling you about it. After that I fell unconscious for about a day before I woke up. Thankfully it was a clean wound and I hadn't bled too much. For two days after that I used what time I was awake to call on the Light and sustain my body while I waited for help to come. The next patrol that found me thankfully had a very good healer with them and he was able to get me back on my feet again."

Elencia took another sip of brandy from her glass.

"I think I might need one for me actually." Gavrin stated, getting up and pouring a glass of brandy for himself. Downing it in two gulps, he poured another before sitting back down and continuing.

"So, now that I was able to walk, all I wanted to do was get Ana's body and get the hell out of there."

"So you have his…body?" Elencia timidly asked.

Gavrin shifted uneasily in his seat, clearly knowing something he didn't want to tell her.

"What? What is it?" She demanded, yet scared of the answer she might receive.

"That's the thing. We looked everywhere for Ana but we couldn't find him. The only trace of him was this." From his pocket, he pulled a medium sized silver coin and gently placed it on the table in front of him.

The look on Elencia's face said it all to Gavrin; she did not have to say a single word.

"I found it near the death knight. If it means anything, he gave that death knight the best he had, cause that undead bastard wasn't a pretty sight, even with all things considered. We think it came loose during the fight."

"Oh…my poor Ana. I made this charm for him when he told me about the Plaguelands."

She picked it up from the table and softly stroked the surface with her fingers, her mind wandering back to when she had given it to him.

It was basically a silver coin, but instead of the bust of a king or lord on its surface, it had a purple lotus carefully engraved into it.

"I'm so sorry lass, we looked for a whole day, covered as much area as we could, but we -"

Elencia put a finger to his lips to stop him talking.

"Shhh, Gav. Don't blame yourself."

Then she moved her hand down to his chest, over his scar.

"You did all you could and you're lucky to be alive as it is." She soothed.

Gavrin frowned. "I can't help but think it is. I know it is. All of this is." He turned his head, now unable to look her in the eye.

Elencia moved her hand up from his chest and gently put it on the side of his chin, turning his head back to face her. When he was looking at her again, she stared him right in the eye and spoke the four words he would try and remember for the rest of his life.

"It's not your fault."

She managed a forgiving smile that softened the hard frown on Gavrin's brow.

Elencia stood up and went to the bench. Standing there for several minutes, she stared out of the window, deep in thought as silence filled the small cottage.

Elencia spoke first, breaking the silence.

"Gavrin, if you are willing, there is one thing I would have you do for me."

"Anything lass, just name it."

"I want you to take me to where Ana died."  
Gavrin eyed her with concern. "Are ya sure? Should we even get there; his body is gone. There is nothing to mourn or grieve over and I don't want ya to get all the way out the just to experience more pain."

Elencia slowly turned around and looked Gavrin with her soft eyes. "I appreciate your concern, I really do, but this is something I must do." She said, her voiced chocked with emotion. "And I need your help to do it"

Gavrin sighed heavily, knowing he could not deny the lady her wish. "Very well. I'll come back tomorrow morning and we'll leave first thing."

She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you Gav. This means a lot to me."

In response, he put his hand on top of hers and looked up at her. "I know lass, I know."

They hugged once more before Gavrin left, still with a grief-stricken look plastered on his face, albeit not feeling as bad as he did when he first entered.

Closing the door behind him, Elencia moved to the bedroom and watched him leave from the window. As Gavrin left down the neatly paved path, Elencia could not help but think of the times she had watched Anadelias come up the very same path, into her waiting arms.

Her eyes still red and her emotions still running high, all she could do was collapse onto the bed, grasp her pillow and think about the man she would never see again, shedding tears in the process.

_Never see again_ she thought to herself. _There has to be a way, no matter the cost, where there is a will there is a way. _She continued to think about all the happy times they spent together until sleep took hold of her.


	4. Revelation

_**Chapter IV**_

**C**ome morning, rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains woke Elencia from her light slumber. Apathetically climbing out of bed and looking at herself in the mirror, Elencia could clearly see that her hair was a mess, her eyes were still red and worse of all, she had fallen asleep in her clothes from yesterday, too distraught to even change.

"First things first." She said to no one in particular. Brushing her hair proved to be harder than she first thought it would be when she realized the brush she was using just happened to be a present from her husband, dredging up memories and sending tears down her distraught face once again. Once she had managed to get her hair into a reasonably presentable ponytail, she got changed into fresh clothes and decided to skip on the makeup, considering that this day would be far from easy for her. Just as she had finished cooking and eating breakfast in silence, someone knocked on the door, which she guessed would be Gavrin.

As she opened it, she saw Gavrin standing there, looking solemn.

"Are ya ready lass?" He asked gently.

Elencia did not reply but nodded instead, signifying her answer. They left together, walking in silence.

A few hours into the journey, Gavrin slowed and turned to Elencia.

"The clearing is just up ahead lass," he hesitated "are ya sure yer ready?"

Elencia took a deep breath. "I am." Her hand unconsciously slipped into her pocket and began to caress the charm she had taken with her, as if it gave her some unseen strength to continue.

Gavrin grimaced. "Alright then."

Pushing aside a stray branch hanging down, Gavrin cleared the way for Elencia. As she gingerly moved past him and into the clearing, a great sense of foreboding washed over her. Her feet refused to keep moving ahead and her hands started to shake, almost imperceptibly. A reassuring hand on her shoulder from Gavrin gave her the strength to keep moving forward and face her fears.

As the clearing opened up before her, the first thing she noticed was the battered body of Soulbane, who was still in the same position where Anadelias had left him. Not surprisingly, the wild animals in the area had steered clear and left the body alone. Even the scavenger insects dared not touch the corpse, almost as if they instinctively knew no good would come of it.

The only other visible sign that anything had transpired here was a dark patch of bare dirt near the centre of the clearing. Elencia instinctively gravitated towards it, somehow knowing it was where her husband was last seen. Upon reaching the discoloured dirt, she saw it was dried blood as she slowly lowered herself down onto both knees and gingerly put her hand to the ground.

Gavrin slowly walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder for support. He could hear her beginning to sob softly and thought about saying something, but decided to keep quiet and let Elencia have this moment to herself.

When she finally did turn to look up at him, what he saw put him slightly off balance. Instead of a distraught woman dealing with the loss of her husband, he saw the face of a woman with a renewed hope and a smile that felt strangely out of place.

"Are ya okay, lass?" He asked hesitantly.

As the tears of joy swelled in her eyes then trickled down her soft cheeks, she stood and faced the bewildered paladin. "My Ana, my beloved Ana is alive!"

Gavrin's heart sunk as she said this. Clearly, bringing her here was a bad mistake, as delusion had sunk its dark tendrils into her mind.

He started to try to explain to her that Ana was dead but she merely interrupted him and pointed to the pool of dried blood as if it would explain everything.

"Look lass, I don't know what -"

"There, look!" Elencia interrupted excited, pointing again.

Gavrin looked toward she was pointing and to her credit, there, at the very edge of the pool was a footprint of blood. How in the Light did he miss that the first time?

He could clearly see that there were several more bloody footprints leading away from the clearing. "Elencia, lass, those tracks lead towards Stratholme." Gavrin said with a grim face. "If he is still alive, it's more than likely that he is a prisoner of the Scourge."

Unperturbed, she would not waver. "That may be so, but it still means that he is alive, somewhere."

Gavrin looked at her and could not fault her logic – as misguided as it was. Several minutes of silence filled the air as Gavrin considered his options and finally came to his decision.

"Elencia, lass, I'm going to take ya home so ya can get some rest and something to eat. I will take care of things here."

She eyed him closely. "What do you mean?"

Gavrin's face took on a stone hard look. "I mean I've failed you once and I won't do so again. Even if it takes me the rest of my life, I will find Anadelias and bring him back. I swear it."

"Oh Gav, I couldn't ask you to so that - "

"You don't have to ask." Gavrin interrupted, "I need to do this for both of us. I owe it to him…and you."

Elencia smiled softly. "I know when Gavrin the Stout has his mind set on something, not a thing in all of Azeroth will stop him. This means a lot to me."

"I know lass, I know." He hugged Elencia with his thick arms and then started to walk away from the clearing with her.

"Thank you Gav." She said looking up to him as they headed back to her house.

"Don't thank me yet lass. Ya can do that when I bring Ana back." Gavrin replied looking straight ahead so Elencia wouldn't see the doubt in his eyes. In the back of his mind, there was a tiny niggling thought that told him he wouldn't succeed. Yet try as he might to pay no heed to it, he could not help but know it was a doomed endeavour.

When they arrived back at the cottage, Gavrin broke the silence that had hung over them like a lethargic cloud the entire walk back.

"Lass, I don't know how long this'll take but I will bring Ana back, one way or the other."

Elencia smiled and took one of his huge hands into hers and patted it. "I know Gav and I want to help you."

Gavrin shook his head and sighed. "There is no way you are coming with me, it's too dangerous. I do not want to find Ana only to have to tell him that his wife is dead because I couldn't protect her."

"No, no, I mean I can help from here. Tell you what, come back tomorrow and I will show you what I mean."

Gavrin hesitantly agreed when Elencia promised that it would keep her out of harm's way.

After they both said their goodbyes and Gavrin left, Elencia rushed inside and went to the kitchen table and cleared it. She then went to the bedroom cupboard and retrieved a rolled up parchment of considerable size. Unfurling it on the kitchen table, it was an extremely detailed map of Azeroth. The continents were all labelled and each had their own regions outlined and almost every known village, town and city was marked and named on the map regardless of their affiliation with the Horde, Alliance or even the Scourge.

Along with the map, Elencia had also gotten a small leather bag from the same cupboard. Carefully opening it, she pulled a seemingly average spool of thread and a tiny crystal needle. From her dress pocket, she gingerly took out the necklace, still stained with the dried blood, and placed it on the table. Turning her attention towards the needle and thread, she delicately threaded the head of the needle and unwound a hand span of thread before breaking it off from the spool. Upon doing this, the thread glowed with a faint haze of purple for a moment before returning to normal. The spellthread, when combined with the crystal needle, made an excellent scrying tool for finding people, places or objects.

"Right, here we go." Elencia said to her self. She picked up the bloodied necklace in her right hand and the end of the spellthread in her left and held it over the table so the needlepoint was mere centimetres from the map. Closing her eyes and concentrating deeply, words of power began to roll off her tongue, and her fingers gripped the necklace more tightly, turning her knuckles white. When she opened her eyes, the needle was moving about, but it seemed to stagger as if it was drunk. It would start in one direction and then veer off into another before randomly wobbling around and stopping altogether.

Elencia frowned, disappointed with the failed scrying. She huffed and put down the necklace and needle. The map was clearly defined and she had always used it in the past, so that wasn't the problem. The crystal needle and spellthread came from Dalaran itself and had never failed her previously, so it couldn't be them either. Her gaze then fell upon the necklace on the table.

Of course! That had to be it, she thought. The necklace was connected to Anadelias, but not as strongly as she has first thought it was. What she need was something to act as a stronger focus, something with a better connection to her Ana. Elencia leaned back in the chair, deep in thought. As she went through a mental checklist in her head of the contents of the cottage, she came to the conclusion that there wasn't anything here that came close to what she needed. Crossing her arms in frustration, Elencia sighed and looked out the kitchen window. It was starting to get dark, which meant she would have to start lighting the candles soon. All of a sudden, like a bolt of lightning striking a metal flagpole during a thunderstorm, the answer struck her. Elencia rushed to the front door and grabbed her travel cloak and lantern, which she lit before she left and headed out to a place she cherished very much.

Moving through the forest like a grey-cloaked banshee, she glided around the trees and never wavered as she followed a route she had traversed many times before, so many in fact, she could probably do it blindfolded. At dusk, the forest was a different place altogether though. No golden rays of sunlight breaking through the canopy, no birds happily singing their tunes and no forest critters scurrying about The sun was replaced by shadows, the birds were replaced by hooting owls and the scurrying critters were replaced by glowing set of eyes peering out from the shadows. When it was full and not impeded by cloud cover, the moon cast an eerie glow over everything like a faint, ghostly blanket. As she moved through the forest, shadows flickered and danced around the trees at her passing, slightly obscuring the path from the one in her memory. Nevertheless, she continued onwards, holding her lantern in front of her for guidance.

Ahead, her eyes could make out a faint glow and Elencia knew she was heading in the right direction. The glow became stronger the nearer she was and before long, it nearly rivalled the lantern's light. Knowing she had reached her destination, she smiled and put her lantern down. Elencia slowly approached the tree before her, remembering its beautiful lines and curves; it was unmistakable. This was the tree that her beloved, Anadelias, had carved for her to symbolise their undying love for one another. The light that tree gave off emanated from the two candles placed in small alcoves in the tree. Memories started to flood back to Elencia, walks through the forest, picnics by the lake, the times when Anadelias would playfully 'chase' her through the trees. All were of happier times and all of them strengthen her resolve to find her beloved Ana and to do what must be done.

With trepidation, she stepped forward to the alcove that held her husband's candle. A tear ran down her cheek as Elencia reached out for it and her fingers clasped around the candle inlaid with golden filigree. Millimetre by millimetre she slowly took the candle from its alcove and held it in front of her reverently with both hands, it's orange flame never flickering or showing any signs of extinguishing. For a few minutes, Elencia just stared at the special candle, enthralled by its never-ending, emotionally fuelled flame. Shaking her head and breaking the trance, she went over to the lantern and licked her thumb and index finger and put out the flame. Taking the extinguished run-of-the-mill candle out of the lantern and replacing it with the filigreed candle, it shone with an even brighter light than before. Her task done, Elencia set out back home using the well-traversed path through the forest.

Upon reaching the cottage, she rushed straight to the kitchen table where she had left her scrying material. Sitting back down and again closing her eyes in concentration, she gripped the candle of undying affection and held the spellthread above the map and began to recite the words of power again. Almost instantly, the crystal needle started to vibrate and spin, more wilder every second - then as soon as it started, it came to a dead standstill. Opening her eyes, she dropped the spellthread as her hand covered her gaping mouth and she let out a gasp.

"Oh Ana…" Elencia remarked as she looked down at the crystal needle which was sticking straight into the map directly above the Scourge fortress of Stratholme.

The next day, Gavrin did come back and he and Elencia went for a stroll around the lake near her cottage. She was the first one to start the conversation.

"I scryed for Ana last night."

Gavrin looked at her with raised eyebrow. "And how did that go?"

Elencia smiled as she told him that it went better than she thought it would, but left out the details oh how she managed to do it.

"So ya found him then?" Gavrin inquired.

The smile vanished as Elencia's voice went deathly quiet. "You were right Gav."

Gavrin frowned, a habit that was becoming more common these days. "What do ya mean lass?"

Elencia's eyes dropped to the ground as she told him where he was.

"Stratholme?" Gavrin exclaimed. "So they did take him prisoner. They must have a reason for keeping him alive." Gavrin could think of several, but he wasn't willing to mention any of them in front of Elencia.

She mumbled only an 'I guess' in reply.

"Don't worry lass, I'll find him and bring him back." Gavrin said, his voice resolute.

Elencia seemingly perked up and looked up to him. "I know you will Gav."

In response, Gavrin gave her a smile, though he suspected she knew it was just a façade.

The two of them finished their walk around the lake, idly chatting. When they completed their circuit and made it back to the cottage, Gavrin said his last goodbye as he set off to find and bring back Anadelias.

Elencia watched him leave down the path and went back inside. Sitting on the end of her bed, many thoughts were swirling around in her head. Her faith in Gavrin was strong, but there was no way she could just stay here, cooped up, for however long it took Gavrin to accomplish his self imposed task. She needed to do something, _anything_, to actively work on getting her husband back and keep her occupied. But he was a prisoner of the Scourge in Stratholme. There was no way she could do anything except scry without coming to harm herself. The only things in Stratholme were Scourge, Cultist and the Scarlet Crusade – and there was no way the Crusade would take her in, she had no combat training whatsoever. Besides, they were crazed zealots her husband had said and not to be trusted for they were just as bad as the menace they fought. The city was under the control of the Scourge anyway, the Crusade was losing ground and probably wasn't a viable option – no reason to join the losing side so to speak. Maybe an invisibility potion could work. The Dalaran merchants were always selling those kinds of things. No, the Cult would have wards in place, otherwise it would have been done already, she concluded.

Then a dangerous thought began to coalesce in her head. What if she could get into the city without using a potion or a magic? What if she could walk among them freely? What if the Cult of the Damned thought she was one of them? She would have the freedom to move about the city and look for her beloved and – _No!_ What was she thinking? Join the Cult of the Damned? It was madness!

She got up to go outside and clear her head but as she did, her eyes fell upon a picture of her beloved Anadelias on the mantle. Rather than dissuade her train of thought, it had the opposite effect, giving her the strength the commit to this decision. She would join the Cult of the Damned to gain access to Stratholme and secretly find her beloved and get him the hell of out that city, and _then_ they could finally be together again. To do this however, she realised she would break her promise to Gavrin to stay out of harm's way. But…if it wasn't Elencia that left, technically she wouldn't break it. A new name and identity would be in order then. Packing a few spare clothes and some bread along with a skin of water into a backpack she readied herself for the journey ahead. That day, she entered the house as Elencia, dedicated wife of Anadelias and left it as Ammet, an ambitious aspirant of the Cult of the Damned.


	5. Metamorphosis

_**Chapter V**_

**D**readsorrow, newly raised Death Knight of the Scourge, trudged his way through the mist laden forest. The suffocating stench of the living was nearby, most likely a Scarlet Crusade or Argent Dawn patrol. If they crossed his path, they would regret it, but he wasn't about to actively seek them out - especially while he still had no weapon - he had better things to do. Stratholme was nearby; no more than fifteen minutes walk away. Dreadsorrow decided that when he got there, he would demand a steed from Rivendare; there was no way he would be walking to and from places anymore, it was too damn tedious. Lost in his thoughts, time flew around him and before he knew it the ever-burning dreaded city of Stratholme loomed before him.

'Finally' he grumbled to himself.

As he walked up the path leading to the main gates, several cultists and a few ghouls approached him. "Halt, and identify yourself in the name Lich King." One of them called out.

Dreadsorrow growled, tired of these pathetic cultists already. "I am Dreadsorrow, Death Knight of the Scourge, servant of the Lich King and you are in my way, maggot."

The cultists narrowed their eyes and the ghouls, reflecting their master's telepathic commands, stop looking around and actually focused on the death knight before them.

"You need to learn to some manners, death knight."

'"You need to step out of my way, _cultist_." Dreadsorrow spat out the last word to emphasise the guard's lower status.

"I don't think we're going to let you in." The cultist, who was presumably their leader, threatened.

Dreadsorrow started to make a guttural growl in the back of this throat. "I grow weary of this exchange and I will pass regardless of what you think." He stretched out his left arm and what looked like a blackish purple bolt of lightning shot forth from his hand and enveloped the lead cultist before he suddenly flew forwards through the air towards the death knight.

Dreadsorrow cocked his right arm backwards and when the flying cultist enveloped by the blackish-purple energy was close enough he let loose his punch and with a sickening wet sound followed by a sharp crack, it was over. The dark energy surrounding the now limp and lifeless cultist dispersed. Dreadsorrow had punched with all his unholy might and his fist had gone straight through the unfortunate man's throat and broke his spine at the back of neck. Throwing the body aside like a ragdoll and flicking his hand free of gore, Dreadsorrow walked straight pass the remaining cultists with their mouths agape and into Stratholme.

* * *

It had been nearly two weeks Dreadsorrow reflected, since he had arrived in Stratholme before he was actually summoned to appear before Rivendare. Since he first stepped into the city, he had received numerous patrol assignments from underlings of the Baron and it was beginning to rather tedious. He knew it was a test, so he complied with their orders, but there was only so much meaningless minion work he could do before his rage finally boiled over. Luckily, the Baron had finally requested his presence, hopefully putting an end to the boring patrol work.

As he strode through the ruined city he passed more cultists, their powerful necromancer officers, shrieking banshees who screams tore at the ears of the living, a plethora of rotting and shambling ghouls and the eerie undead spider-like crypt fiends who stood on six legs and watched him pass, chittering to themselves. He was beginning to wonder why he saw no abominations around. They were the heavy shock troopers, able to dish out and withstand an incredible amount of punishment. Surely the Baron has them somewhere – it would be madness to try and defend this stronghold without them, especially with the Scarlet Crusade still infecting parts of the city.

Dreadsorrow rounded the corner of the alley he was walking through and the massive portcullis of Slaughter Square loomed before him and then he had his answer. The open square around the Slaughterhouse was utterly teeming with abominations. The majority, if not all of the cities' giant stitched guards must be here. Who in their right mind would keep them all here? Deploy them to chokepoints, bottlenecks and have them on the front line with crypt fiend support – but not all in the one damn place like this, thought Dreadsorrow. This really is madness; the damn Baron must be even more arrogant than first thought to have all the abominations concentrated here. That, or supremely paranoid.

Sighing, he walked under the portcullis and past the meandering abominations that ignored him for the most part and up to the heavy door of the Slaughterhouse which appeared to be locked. He pounded on the door several times with his fist and waited.

"Who goes there?" Came a grating, hollow voice in reply.

Dreadsorrow pinched the bridge of his nose. You have got to be joking he thought to himself.

"What is this, a children's clubhouse? Open the damn door before I break it down myself!" he shouted

A silence hung in the air for a few excruciatingly long seconds before the voice answered. "Who goes there?"

Dreadsorrow had to keep his frustration in check before he smashed the door to pieces. After a deep growl he begrudgingly answered. "I am Dreadsorrow, Death Knight of the Scourge, servant of the Lich King."

Another long silence, followed by a metal on metal grinding sound as the double doors started to open outwards.

"Oh, of course…" Dreadsorrow exclaimed as he saw the skeletal Black Guard open the door and form a praetorian guard on the steps around him so it would just as easy to box him in and kill him as it would be to protect him from attackers.

"You may enter." rasped one of the Black Guard.

Dreadsorrow stalked up the steps and into the bowels of the Slaughterhouse, muttering about the questionable intelligence levels of skeletons as he went past.

Descending down more steps into the inner section of Rivendare's 'sanctum', Dreadsorrow came upon more heavy metal doors, similar to the front ones but with one small difference – these ones were already open. Silently counting his praises that he didn't have to give a secret password or yet again state who he was for the umpteenth time, he proceeded through the massive doors.

The metaphorical central nervous centre of Stratholme that held the Baron was not exactly what Dreadsorrow as expecting.

The left and right sides of the room were basically giant alcoves and the middle of the room had a slight circular feel to it. To his right, there was several heavy iron cages mostly filled with the desiccated remains of someone unlucky enough to have earned the Baron's ire, but one of them held a still living prisoner. On his left there were three massive piles of bones from all matter of animals and humanoids, with intermittent pieces of armour scattered throughout and heaped about halfway to the roof. For a second, Dreadsorrow could've sworn he saw several of the bones twitch, almost imperceptibly. He dismissed the thought as he brought his gaze to bear on the middle of the room.

Two large banners hung on the back wall, one was the Scourge standard, but the other one had an unfamiliar coat of arms on it that he couldn't place. In front of them was the desk that the Baron was sitting at. It was as long two humans lying end to end and about as thick as an orc's arm. The legs of the table were just that – skeletal legs of some poor unfortunate beast unlucky enough to be used for table legs. Scattered across the table itself was dozens of missives, scrolls and reports plus a few other items you would expect to see on the desk of someone in a high administrative position. Seated in a high back chair at the centre of the desk was the Baron himself, penning something onto a scroll.

"I'm here." stated Dreadsorrow, not caring if he interrupted Rivendare's train of thought.

Rivendare acted as if the death knight before him was not even there and just kept penning.

Making a guttural growl, Dreadsorrow again stated his presence, this time louder.

Not even looking up, Rivendare answered curtly as the quill swished from side to side. "I know you are there, death knight, be patient."

Dreadsorrow's face twisted into contempt as he approached the Baron's desk and slammed his hands down on it, scattering scrolls and paper in all directions. "I lost my patience the second you raised me!"

Rivendare simply put down his quill, brought his hands together in front on him, interlocking them and looked up at the death knight. "What do you want?"

"You're the one who summoned me here and now I'm here."

"Indeed. So then, your first real mission," a sinister smile spread across Rivendare's face "will involve you going to the other side of Stratholme and clearing out the Scarlet zealots by any means necessary." The Baron leaned back in his chair, waiting to see what effect his orders would have on the death knight to gauge his reaction. The period just after new servant is raised is very fragile. It was a time to test their intelligence and obedience levels and assign them a respective position. Some ended up in a lower one, some a higher one, but most were basically just there to fill the ranks of rifle fodder. This death knight in front of him held a lot of promise, but also a strong will, which could develop into a serious problem if not dealt with early.

Dreadsorrow straightened up and put a hand to his pale chin, thinking. "I will need some new armour, a decent weapon and some support. Give me those things and the Scarlet Bastion will fall." He crossed his arms, half expecting a fight in return.

Caught slightly off guard by the death knight's complicity, Rivendare quickly composed himself before answering. "I did not think you would so readily agree."

"Killing is what I do, Baron. You ordered me to go and kill, therefore I will do as you ask," he hesitated for a fraction of a second, "…for now."

Rivendare frowned and filed away a mental note to keep a closer watch on this death knight and his potential for subordination. He could become quite the problem down the line if not reined in soon. For now though, it would work to his advantage to assist him in his task. "The Armoury shall help you with the armour and weapons."

"And my support?"

Rivendare stood and spread his arms wide with a disturbing smile on his face "You are in Stratholme, death knight, your support is everywhere. Ghouls, cultists, banshees. Take what you think you will need." He clasped his hands at the small of his back and tried to look down his nose at Dreadsorrow, but failed as the death knight's black eyes bore into him.

"I'll get started then."

"Close the doors on your way out." Rivendare sat back down and started to try and re-organise the mess of papers on his desk. "And never forget that you are my servant,_ I _control _you_."

"Don't worry, I haven't." Dreadsorrow said, his voice filled with spite. A guttural growl accompanied him as he left.

Upon exiting the Slaughterhouse he turned to one of the Black Guard. "Quickly, there is an assassin in the Master's chambers, you must help!" Dreadsorrow exclaimed, putting panic into his voice. The Black Guards reacted immediately, racing through the doors and disappearing into the Slaughterhouse. As he walked down the front steps, he could hear a faint scream of annoyance coming from deep with the Baron's sanctum. Dreadsorrow allowed himself a small moment of contentment as he smiled and chuckled to himself, imagining the look of anger on the Baron's face.

The Armoury was uninspired to say the least. As far as Dreadsorrow could tell, it was basically an abandoned ziggurat near the Slaughterhouse with its ash'tari crystal removed. The inside, Dreadsorrow saw as he entered, had been converted to a small, yet bland blacksmithing workshop. There was a lone skeleton in some old armour hammering away at a sword on an anvil. Around him there all manner of weapons. Maces, polearms, longswords, shields, even a blunderbuss was propped up against the wall in one corner.

"You! You must be the new death knight. Come 'ere to arm yourself 'ave ya? Come to the right place then." The slightly accented voice was coming from the skeletal blacksmith, who had stopped hammering and had come around to inspect the new death knight.

"Baron Rivendare has –" Dreadsorrow began before being interrupted by the blacksmith waving a dismissive bony hand.

"Bah, buggar him, who cares? I don't, that's for sure. I wanna know about you son, you're the talk of the town, eh? Or whatever passes for talk for a ghoul! Hahahaha!" The skeleton's laugh was like someone coughing up a hairball with a mouthful of sand – it sounded wrong and was extremely irritating.

A bony hand patted him on the shoulder and Dreadsorrow looked at it and growled. The last thing he need was a skeleton with a sense of humour. He brushed the hand away from him. "Look blacksmith, I just -" Again Dreadsorrow was interrupted.

"It's a good thing you came along when you did, cause it was starting to get _dead_ quiet around here."

Dreadsorrow groaned.

"But really, I joke, my smithy is the best around, anywhere; people are just _dying_ to get my wares!" Another burst of laughter.

Dreadsorrow put his hands to his temples and started rubbing. His patience was already waning when he walked in, now, it was pretty much non-existent. "For the last time, smith, I just need –"

For the third time he was interrupted. "Smith? Nah, you got it wrong mate, my name's Fred."

Dreadsorrow's rage boiled over and he lunged forward, grabbing the skeleton's head and yanking as hard as he could. The now headless body of bones surprisingly stayed upright, as if frozen in time. Its head or skull rather, was clutched tightly between Dreadsorrow's strong hands.

"One more joke or bad pun and I will crush your skull into dust." Dreadsorrow said through gritted teeth.

The skull seemed to ponder his options for a while before answering. "You know, I've always wanted to tour as a comic, I'd be a _head_-lining act!"

Dreadsorrow answered in turning by letting out a guttural growl and slowly started to increase the pressure between his hands, which was bad for Fred.

"Okay, okay, alright, I've had my fun, don't crush meeeee!" Fred pleaded.

"No. More. Jokes." Stated Dreadsorrow, shaking the skull with each word for emphasis.

"Fine, ok, sure." Fred hastily replied.

Dreadsorrow placed the skull back atop the body, which jerked once. "There."

"Oh wow, that's better. Thanks…I think." Fred said, rolling his head side to side, cracking bones.

"Now, about my –" Dreadsorrow started, before Fred interrupted again.

"Yes, yes, your armour, I got just the thing for ya, right this way mate." Fred turned and walked over to an empty section of the wall that didn't have weapons racks on it or wooden dummies wearing armour. He pulled a small green crystal from under his own breastplate and pressed it into a small waist height indentation on the wall.

Dreadsorrow raised an eyebrow as the wall started to shimmer and then disappear before him, revealing another room. He followed Fred into the hidden room and noticed that this was also used for blacksmithing, but the superior quality of tools and hammers he saw was stark distinction to the room he had just left. Even the forge and the anvil were of better make than their counterparts.

"Call it a little side project, if you will." Fred said, turning Dreadsorrow's attention to the skeleton.

The death knight's gaze swept to where Fred was gesturing towards the back of the room, where the skeletal blacksmith's masterpiece was being held.

Dreadsorrow's eyes grew wide as they fell upon the armour that was levitating in a purple haze. It was magnificent, it was beautiful, it was…it was perfect, Dreadsorrow thought to himself.

The armour was jet black with a dark purple trim and as soon as he laid his eyes upon it, he knew it was meant to be worn by him. It was a design like none he had ever seen. The cuirass had the most detail. Whereas most coat-of-arms had animals holding a shield or something similarly along those lines, this cuirass had a battalion of skeletons holding up a massive standard with the Scourge insignia on it. Every bone and tiny feature on the standard was engraved with excruciating care and in minute detail. The pauldrons were different to each other. The left one still covered all of the shoulder, but the design on it was what looked like a trapped soul trying to escape, a twisted human face trapped in an eternal scream, striking fear in the hearts of those who would face the wearer. The right pauldron however, was fairly plain, but had small, one inch spikes protruding from around the edges. Other parts of the armour that stood out were the skulls engraved into the top of the greaves and vambraces. The gauntlets were made to appear as if they were the claws of some fearsome creature of nightmare. The helm, the pinnacle of the set, was almost crown-like. A spike in the shape of a horn at the front of the helm curved outwards and up before tapering to a point. Several more sharp protrusions were spaced around the circumference of the helm, each one slightly smaller than the last in a descending order so the spike at the back of the helm was the smallest. One of the most striking features however was about halfway up the large central spike where a fragment of an ash'tari crystal had been embedded into the design. The immense boost to his already veritable necromantic powers the crystal would grant was an incredible boon. Then there were the nose and cheek guards which had flowing, angular lines that also ended in a sharp point just below where the chin would be.

Dreadsorrow took it all in, amazed by the detail and practicality of it. "It is a work of excellence…Fred." Dreadsorrow guessed that if the skeleton could smile right about now; he would be doing so from ear to ear.

"Well, it did take me a while to perfect it, but I got plenty o' spare time." Fred folded his arms. "And now it's fit for a Scourge Lord. Or…a really, really powerful death knight." He swivelled his head so the two empty eye sockets stared at Dreadsorrow.

A half smile snuck onto Dreadsorrow's face. "I think catch your drift."

As he discarded his battered, dirtied and bloodied paladin armour, Dreadsorrow felt relief; finally ridding himself of the armour. With each piece that fell to the floor, it clattered and rang out, the noise bouncing off the walls of the small room. Each piece was a reminder of his old, pathetic life and it had to be stripped away to make room for his new life, just like how a snake sheds its old skin to grow into the new one. Fred assisted in dressing Dreadsorrow in his new black and purple armour. The pieces slid into place easily, almost like they were eager to be worn by the death knight. Finally, Dreadsorrow inclined his head slightly to allow Fred to put the helm on. It slid on with a strange ease, eerily a perfect fit for his head.

"Eh, not to shabby if I say so myself. You scrub up rather well." Fred complimented jokingly.

"This armour, it fits perfectly – and it doesn't weigh a ton either."

"Weeeell, all blacksmiths 'ave their secrets." Dreadsorrow could picture Fred winking if he still had eyes to do so. "Speaking o' which, you might also be needing these." He produced what appeared to be two turquoise coloured stones, small enough to both fit in his skeletal hand. Both had the same intricate snowflake pattern engraved onto their surface. He dropped them into Dreadsorrow's open palm.

Dreadsorrow frowned at the 'gifts'. "I do not need rocks, smith, I need weapons."

"They are the twins, Thal'ruk and Thul'rak. Separate, they whisper death. Together they sing ruination"

"They are rocks. They collect dirt and dust."

Fred scoffed at Dreadsorrow's hastily reached conclusions. "Put one in each hand and now picture two great axes made of the finest material and sharp enough to slice a dragonscale in half with ease."

As Dreadsorrow followed Fred's instructions, almost instantly, a small fog of frost and mist exploded from each hand and evaporated, revealing two axes in each hand. They were crafted from a light blue metal that glinted even in the harsh light of the small room. They had leather tooled handgrips with pommels shaped as skulls and the heads of the axes rose two foot with wicked looking jagged edges along their spines and a nastily curved front edge which did look like it could carve clean through a dragonscale just as Fred boasted.

Twirling them in hand, a look of admiration for the blacksmith's creations formed on Dreadsorrow's face. He tried a few practice swings and found them quite to his liking. If he were still capable, he would probably say he loved them, but such emotions were behind him now. "Perfectly weighted, small, yet fast and deadly – why, I think you might have outdone yourself Fred." Dreadsorrow complimented with a rare smile. "How do I –"

"Simply think of their stone form and voila!" Answered Fred, pre-empting the death knight's question.

Again, in a puff of frosty mist, the axes reverted to their turquoise stones. "Handy." Commented Dreadsorrow.

"There's a niche for both of them on either side of your belt. Easy to store and carry around, but quick to wield in a fight."

Dreadsorrow inspected the sides of his new belt and did indeed find a round indentation for each stone, one for the left and one for the right. They fit perfectly and were held fast by some unseen force, ready and waiting to be used in combat.

"Thank you for your help, Fred."

The skeleton dismissed his thanks with a wave. "Nah, you're alright. I'm just glad that bloody Baron finally found someone with some intelligence. Better than those clichéd sycophantic morons he usually recruits. Besides, now I have to craft another set, so it'll help pass the time. Maybe put in some improvements I've been thinking about."

"Suffer well then, Fred."

"Yeah, you too ya big lout." Fred laughed, patting Dreadsorrow on the back. "Now go and kill some Scarlet zealots for me eh?"

Dreadsorrow promised he would as he left and stepped forth from the ziggurat in his new armour and strode back to the Slaughterhouse grounds with a renewed vigour. Today, he thought to himself, the pathetic Scarlet Crusade would know true fear.


	6. Freedom

_**Chapter VI**_

**S**tanding at the front of Slaughter Square, Dreadsorrow watched in mild indifference as the abominations milled about aimlessly, waiting for the day that someone would be suicidal enough to directly assault the Slaughterhouse.

_By any means __necessary…take what you think you'll need._ Rivendare's words repeated inside his head. He was going to do just that, follow the orders to the letter, just like a good little death knight should.

"Abominations!" His mental shout carried across the square and touched all the minds of the fleshy constructs. "By Baron Rivendare's command, you have all, as of this moment, been reassigned to me. You are to all form up into a single unit and accompany me to the other side of Stratholme where we crush the Scarlet Crusade." His powerful mental commands pressed themselves into the simple minds of the abominations, ensuring their obedience.

After his conscription, he heard several abominations talking about being hungry he swore he even heard one of them mention something about 'playtime'. Ignoring it, he turned and started to march towards the living side of Stratholme with the massive Scourge shock troopers thundering behind him.

Seerath Shadewalker was crouched behind one of the many stacks of wooden, half rotted crates scattered throughout Slaughter Square. Slowly, he raised himself up and peered over the top. Around fifteen horrific abominations by his count meandered around the open ground, patrolling in random and uncoordinated directions. Muttering a curse to himself he crouched back down and turned to the others with him. They were a mercenary team with talents as diverse as one could expect. Therian, another male night elf, was a druid specialising in the healing arts, although he was currently shapeshifted into his cat form, stealthy scoping out the square. Next to him was the exotic female draenei shaman, Magma, a nickname was given to her by Seerath that had stuck like glue – more or less because it was easier to remember and pronounce that than her full draenei name. Sitting and meditating towards the back was the human priest Seranda, who was extremely proficient with the shadow arts. The last member of the band of infiltrators was the dwarf paladin, Glormek. Clad in thick, blessed armour and a wielding a shield nearly as tall as him, he was constantly on the front lines in the thick of battle.

Normally Seerath worked alone, assassinating targets solo, but for this mission he had to recruit several acquaintances for the job. They didn't work for free, but the amount of gold that his client had paid him to assassinate Baron Rivendare would more than cover their expenses _and_ still leave him with a small fortune to retire with.

"There are quite a few abominations," stated Seerath, "but if we tackle them in small groups, we should be fine. Ok, here is what we will do."

Picking up another report, this one from the Noxious Vale, Baron Rivendare sighed and quickly scanned the contents. A small Argent Dawn incursion, a few Cultists killed and one abomination destroyed. These whittling attacks were getting...abomination? For some reason, that got his attention more than it normally would. Then it hit him like an adamantite hammer. His could no longer sense his abominations outside! Broadening his mental senses, he found them; along with a presence he knew all too well. Dreadsorrow!

Rivendare's fist slammed down onto the desk. Damn that death knight, thought Rivendare, he took my abominations! He sent a quick mental command to his Black Guard to secure the Slaughterhouse and call in the reserves. That should at least keep it under control until that damnable death knight gets back. _If _he gets back that is. Assaulting the Scarlet Bastion by himself and a few abominations is madness. Perhaps the zealots will beat some sense into him. Still, Dreadsorrow has too much independence he decided. There has to be a way to keep him reined in and yet still posses enough intelligence to be useful. He promised himself he would look into that matter after he finished reading these reports.

As Seerath laid out his plain, Therian quietly stalked forward and gazed around the side of their cover. "Seerath, I like your plan, but I have a better one."

The rogue frowned. "Let me guess, just waltz in?" He snapped sarcastically.

The large cat grinned, revealing a mouth full of razor sharp feline teeth. "As a matter of fact, yes. Have a look."

As Seerath stared at the scene before him, he could not believe his luck. All of the abominations were moving away from the Slaughterhouse, and even more astonishingly, in a cohesive formation to boot!

"Quit your slacking and let's go while we still can." Glormek said gruffly.

Seerath closed his jaw and drew his two vicious looking daggers. "I'm right behind you."

The group moved out from their hiding spot and into the square, only to have the elite Black Guard exit from the Slaughterhouse and also from a nearby building, creating a rough perimeter surrounding them.

"I knew it was too good to be true." Seerath grumbled.

The Scarlet Crusade had barricaded the plaza rather well. Crates, sandbags and sharpened logs blocked off the main gateway and created a maze of obstacles that meant attackers would get picked apart bit by bit and any force with greater numbers would lose their advantage. Crusaders, magi, priests and the elite praetorians all stood guard and patrolled the area, ever-alert for another Scourge onslaught. Today would be that day.

A lone figure slowly walked towards the front barricade and was seen by one of the sentries who shouted a cry of alarm and within moments the entire plaza was alerted and at attention.

"Halt!" Shouted the sentry. The figure stopped. "In the name of the Grand Crusader, who goes there?"

"I am Dreadsorrow, Death Knight of the Scourge and I am here to kill each and every one of you." Boomed Dreadsorrow's voice across the plaza.

"Your arrogance is astounding, dark one. You are alone and going to kill all of us? Hah! Fire!" On the sentry's command a flurry of arrows flew from behind him and sped towards their target. At the last possible second Dreadsorrow summoned several bones that spun furiously around him. As the arrows went to pierce his armour, the spinning shield of bone got in the way of each arrow, deflecting them and shattering the bones to tiny pieces in the process. None of the arrows made it to their intended target.

"I would advise you to lay down your weapons and let me grant you a swift death." Shouted Dreadsorrow.

"We will never surrender to the Scourge!" Cried one of the zealots in response.

An evil grin formed on Dreadsorrow's face. "Very well, we shall do this the hard way." Standing with both legs apart and firmly planted to the ground he raised his right arm into the air and then made a single downward chopping motion and yelled a single command. "Chaaaarrrge!"

At first nothing happened. The crusaders started to laugh at this lunatic death knight, and then one of them noticed a pebble on the ground start to bounce up and down. The ground itself was starting to vibrate and shudder. Horrendous noises and nightmarish sounds could be heard and they grew louder and louder. Suddenly, a building to the left of the plaza exploded in a hail a wooden splinters and fiery stone. From the ruins abomination upon abomination burst forth, all whipped into a frenzy and ready to rip through the Scarlet Crusade's lines.

The barricades were as nothing to the massive shock troopers. Brushed aside like paper and completely smashed to pieces, the abominations waded into the Scarlet defenders, ripping apart crusaders. Oversized meat hooks were flung into magi and gutted them like swine. Huge bloodied meat cleavers swung through the air, slicing the defenders to shreds. It was an utter bloodbath. Caught completely by surprise by the unorthodox entry by the undead behemoths, the Scarlet Crusade quickly succumbed to the full scale assault. After several minutes it was over; the zealots lay dead and broken beneath the Scourge.

On Dreadsorrow's order, several of the massive stitched horrors had moved up towards the main door of the Scarlet Bastion and started to throw their considerable bulk at it in an effort to break it down.

As Glormek used his shield and mace to batter the last of the Black Guard into a pile of broken bones, the group started to ascend up the stairs and then down into the bowels of the Slaughterhouse. The paladin joined them at the massive doors, beyond which the Baron lay in wait, as Seerath outlined his plan to take the target down.

"The four of you will approach him from the centre, spread slightly out, but in clear view. Engage him, distract him, make him focus on you."

Glormek grunted. "And where will you be throughout this?"

A sinister smile played on the rogue's lips. "Stealthily encircling the room so that I may assassinate him from behind. After all, who expects to be stabbed in the back in their own private sanctum?"

"Someone who is highly paranoid." Magma answered.

Although Seerath couldn't tell whether the shaman knew it was rhetorical or not, he had to give the draenei credit; he was right. "That would normally be correct, except Rivendare is too arrogant to be paranoid."

"Arrogant or not, he is still extremely powerful and must be given our full attention." This from Seranda.

Magma had her hand on the door and her eyes closed as if in a trance. "Very true, I sense a lot of dark power coming from that room." She frowned. "But there is another, somewhere else in the city that is yet stronger still. This troubles me."

"A lich perhaps?" Suggested Therian.

"Maybe, but I don't wanna be standing around to find out for me self." Stated Glormek gruffly.

"He's right; we get in there, kill the Baron and get out. Clean, quick and efficient." Seerath's tone of voice told the others that no more conversation was to be had. "After you" he said, gesturing towards Glormek.

The bulky paladin pushed open both massive doors and started to radiate the Light. "Baron Rivendare!" His voice bellowed across the room. "We come for you!"

Rising from his high back, almost throne-like chair, Rivendare chuckled to himself. "How amusing, the gnats seek to challenge me! I think it is time to properly show you my hospitality." With that, his clenched his fists, shadow energy coursing through them and then splayed his fingers and sent a volley of shadowbolts from his fingertips towards the attackers. They never reached their targets.

As the shadowy tendrils of dark magic sped towards the group, they started to waver halfway across the room before they just simply dissipated all together just a mere foot away.

Rather than be angry or surprised, Rivendare just simply narrowed his eyes. "Shadow wards. So you have come prepared at least. But the four of you against the one of me? That is hardly fair. Let me even the numbers somewhat." He sent a quick mental command to Dreadsorrow before turning to face the massive collection of bones to his right and sent billowing necrotic tendrils of purple energy into them and waited. Scythe-like skeletal claws burst forth from the bone mound, followed by the body of some deformed humanoid skeleton that seemed to be fused with that of an animal. They loosed a bestial howl before charging towards the group of mercenaries.

Dreadsorrow watched them in fascination as they became makeshift rams - albeit extremely pungent ones - throwing themselves against the reinforced door, with a sickly _thump_ and then stepping aside for the next abomination. As he walked towards the Scarlet Bastion, stepping over broken zealots and splintered barricades, a tingling sensation started to form in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it, but it instead turned into a dull thrum, reverberating throughout his skull. He pressed his hands to his temples as the noise coalesced into a familiar voice.

"_Dreadsorrow! Come to my aid!_" Rang the voice of Rivendare in his head.

Still under the Baron's command, he could not disobey the order. Well, thought Dreadsorrow, not directly. Perhaps a little subtlety is in order... He let the thought trail off as he shouted new orders to the abominations.

"Hurry and break down that door! Kill everyone inside! Slaughter them all and fight to the last!" Dreadsorrow knew that the abominations alone would not kill everyone inside the Bastion, but it was a win-win situation for him. On one hand, they just might kill everyone inside the fortress, thus earning him a respectable victory. On the other hand the abominations would kill quite a few zealots before they were destroyed which meant the Scarlet Crusade would be irrevocably weakened by their losses and ripe to be finished off.

Satisfied that they would carry out his orders, he started to run back to the Slaughterhouse, hoping that he wouldn't be too late to miss whatever was going on with Rivendare.

To deal with the new threat, Glormek charged at the Baron to limit his effective control over the ravagers by forcing him into direct combat and making him divide his attention. As the dwarf countered and parried the Baron's furious blows and blocked with his huge shield, he could hear his allies taking care of the ravagers behind him.

Magma, indicative of her name, called upon the elements and even this tainted land and cursed city, they answered her in the form of a burning gout of lava, erupting from her outstretched hands. The superheated glob of magma flew at the ravager with enough force to knock it back and into the one behind it, taking both of them to floor. Bones clacked against each other and both howled as they tried in vain to get back, but the lava that had splashed over them was already eating away at the bone, quickly dissolving it. Before long, only their legs and limbless claws remained, the rest of their frame had been eaten away by the lava which had already seeped through the cracks in the floor, returning to the earth from whence it came.

While this was happening, the shadow priest was gesturing with her hands, weaving a powerful spell. The three remaining ravagers were close enough to raise their scythe-arms to strike down the human, but stopped short as Seranda ceased moving her hands and spoke the final word of power to complete her spell. The ravagers suddenly slowed to a crawl, so slow, it almost appeared like they had stopped entirely. Cracking sounds could be heard as large fractures started to appear all over their frame and purple slime started to seep out of the cracks. The shadow magic was slowly melting the ravagers form the inside out. The skeletons started to bend and sway as they could no longer support themselves and began to fall down on broken, half liquefied bones. Apathetically clawing the air in front of them as they disintegrated, the ravagers ceased to exist and became nothing more than a purple pool of mush shortly thereafter.

With that immediate threat taken care of, Magma and Seranda turned their attention and focus back to Baron Rivendare and assisting Glormek.

With Glormek shouting obscenities at Rivendare to keep his attention mostly directed at him, Seerath was methodically making his was around the perimeter of the room, slowly edging towards the Baron. He weaved silently in between the heavy iron cages, moving just outside of peripheral vision and getting ever closer to target he stalked. He allowed himself a second to look over to the battle to evaluate the situation. Glormek had several nicks on his armour and a rather large dent in his shield, but otherwise seem fine. Therian was swaying slightly, like a young tree in a light breeze, deep in a healing trance, keeping the others' wounds in check. A bolt of white-blue lightning made a sharp crack as it sped from Magma's hands towards the Baron, who deflected it at the last second on his runeblade and it harmlessly impacted against the roof. If he didn't act soon, the tireless Baron would soon whittle them down and kill them mercilessly when they wore out. For that second that he watched the battle unfold, it steeled his resolve and he again crept forward towards the Baron of Stratholme.

As he approached Rivendare, he reached for the foot long sheath that was strapped tightly to his left leg. Inside was an ordinary dagger, mass produced by a weaponsmith, with nothing that innately made it stand out from its counterparts, except for the golden glow that surrounded the blade.

The reason this dagger was bathing in the Holy Light was due to the conflicting reports and relative unknown nature of death knights, Baron Rivendare in particular. It was acknowledged that quite a few of them were once living beings that had either been converted or lured to the Scourge, but what exactly they were after that was still debatable. Whether they were still living breathing humanoids, or had become soulless undead, or even if they were stuck in some kind of horrible midway limbo, was unknown to pretty much everyone and had them at a loss for an answer. While Seerath had been doing his research for the mission, he had been unable to procure any definitive proof that Baron Rivendare was either alive or undead. A lot of the reports he'd read contradicted each other and made bold, often exaggerated statements, leaving the status of the Baron's disposition shrouded in mystery.

So to be safe, before leaving on this mission, Seerath had visited a long time friend, a priest of the Holy Light, and she had blessed the dagger and anointed it with a holy oil, creating a weapon capable of taking down the Baron of Stratholme, should he prove to be no longer amongst the living, which Seerath suspected.

Silently drawing the dagger from its sheath, Seerath took another step towards the exposed back of Rivendare before raising his arm up ready to bring it down upon the bare neck of Rivendare.

At the same moment Seerath had started to plunge the dagger downward, Glormek managed to take advantage of a weak parry from Rivendare and thrush his shield and bash it into the Baron's side, knocking him slightly off-balance. The minor victory for the paladin turned out to be a fatal problem for the rogue. The holy dagger, no longer aligned with the Baron's neck, pierced his black armour easily and sunk deep into his left shoulder instead. It may have missed the neck, but the damage had still been done. The dagger, infused with the holy energies, tore through the shoulder with ease, tendons disintegrated, muscles were destroyed, wherever the dagger touched, righteous fire burned away the cursed flesh and muscle.

In that instant the dagger penetrated his body, Dreadsorrow, making his way through Stratholme towards the Slaughterhouse suddenly felt a wave of emotion pass through him. He stopped in his tracks as dizziness threatened to topple him. As he leant against a nearby broken lamp post for balance, a name suddenly emerged in his mind. _Gavrin._ He spoke the name, letting his memory try to find any connection. _Friend, best friend, known for years, fought side by side, patrolled the Plaguelands, killed by Soulbane…_ The revelation of these newly surfaced memories stunned the death knight. Where had they come from and why? Then, as if someone has lit a candle, all the pieces fell into place. Rivendare, Dreadsorrow thought, frowning. He had heard his telepathic shout of pain just before the memories had flooded his mind. Somehow the damnable Baron held control of his memories and more than likely would have used them against him should he ever become too independent. If injuring him severely could bring some of them back, then killing him… Dreadsorrow left the thought unfinished as he hastily started again towards the Slaughterhouse, this time doubling his pace.

Normally, pain was something Rivendare would never feel, but as the Light burned through him, he experienced it in the extreme and he roared in a furious agony-fuelled rage. With his left shoulder now utterly ruined, his arm hung limp at his side, his fingers dangling like some kind of revolting set of wind chimes. He lashed out at Glormek with a powerful kick, which the dwarf caught on his shield, but still knocked him back, granting a brief respite. Rivendare threw up a quick spell shield and spun around to face his rear attacker. With his runeblade still in his hand, he put all his strength into bringing it to bear; whipping it around and letting momentum carry it with enough force to cleave a person in two.

Unfortunately for Seerath, that person was him. Were it not the fact that years of combat had honed his reflexes to near instantaneous, he would not have brought his two small daggers up in time for a quick defensive block. As quick as his reflexes were however, they were no match for the power behind the Baron's swing which knocked the daggers aside and embedded the runeblade deep into the rogue's stomach.

Seerath succeeded in not letting Rivendare have the satisfaction of hearing him cry out in pain by the sheer virtue that at first he didn't even realise he had been wounded. Only when the runeblade was violently wrenched back out did he succumb to the intense pain that washed over him like a wave of burning water. He couldn't take it anymore. The pain was too much. Collapsing in a pile on the cold floor, he lay still, waiting for death to take him.

An evil sneer formed on Rivendare's mouth and he turned to face the other attackers again. "Do you think one pitiful night elf can bring _me_ down? I have had enough of your pathetic antics!" Purple energy started to swirl and pulse around his hands and he thrust his hands outward, letting a volley of shadowbolts fly forth.

Glormek managed to block two of them with great effort and Seranda hastily erected a shadow ward around herself and Magma, absorbing the purple skull-shaped bolts of death just in time. Rivendare took a step back to put more distance between the group and himself and let loose with another round of dark energy, seemingly intent to gun them down, per se, with his powerful volleys of doom.

"I can't stop these forever," Seranda shouted frantically over the din of the howling shadowbolts, "they are coming too fast!"

"And I can't heal all of us should they get through…" Therian added.

Glormek frowned as he blocked another unholy bolt. Sparing a second to glance over at Seerath's body, he made a snap decision. "We have to retreat, now! This is a lost cause." He angled his shield and deflected yet another shadowbolt.

"But what about Seerath?" Magma asked concernedly.

"He's dead and we will be too if we don't leave this second!" Glormek countered.

Obviously distraught, but realising their current plight, Magma voiced her agreeance with the paladin. Glormek told them to start moving and that he would cover them. First Magma filed out, followed by Seranda, who threw up her last shadow ward before leaving.

Therian was hesitant to leave, but Glormek was insistent. When he turned for the door however, there was a figure clad in purple-black armour standing off to the side. It was a death knight, Therian realised. Hope fell from his heart as dread and despair gripped it. They were trapped in the damn room with enemies on two fronts. But the death knight did not attack. He just stood there watching. Wary of a trap, the druid took a small step forward to see if the armour clad figure would react. He did, but not in a way Therian ever thought imaginable. Rather than draw a weapon or throw a spell at him, he simply turned his head to look at him and spoke one simple word; 'run'. Not one to question his luck, he put a hand on Glormek's shoulder to signal him to start to back peddle. The paladin did so, and together, they ran past the death knight who watched them leave in a rush.

Rivendare lowered his arms, seeing the last of the cowardly gnats scurry away in fear. As his eyes tracked them, he saw Dreadsorrow at the door, waiting. "You let them live?" he asked the death knight.

Dreadsorrow merely grunted in retort, not belying any of the new knowledge he had gained on his way over. "They were not worth the effort." He narrowed his eyes. "You let them live too."

A smug look briefly flickered across Rivendare's face as he answered. "If you kill every single person that faces you, rumours and stories of your great power and ability cannot spread. By letting them live, you can spread a web of half stories and misinformation better than any spy or infiltrator could ever hope to."

Dreadsorrow was actually surprised – he didn't think the Baron could be that devious. Perhaps he had underestimated him? Dreadsorrow ignored such thoughts and concentrated on the scene before him. A severely injured night elf, an assassin by the looks of him, lay crumpled on the floor behind the Baron. "What about him?" Dreadsorrow asked, inclining his head slightly towards Seerath.

"Ahhh, our would be assassin." Rivendare said, turning to face the rogue. "I am very surprised by this one; he came so close to actually killing me." The Baron leaned closer. "Your skill is something that I cannot let go to waste – you will become an excellent addition to our cause."

Seerath opened his eyes to look up at the Baron. Weakly, his hand clenched around one of his personal daggers, which he had been drawing slowly ever since he hit the ground, waiting for this moment. "I think not." Spat Seerath at the Baron as he thrust the dagger towards him as hard as he could with what strength he had left.

With a swift movement of his good arm, Rivendare reached out and grabbed Seerath's wrist and held it in a vice-like grip. Looking over the weapon, then back to Seerath he slowly started to push it back towards the rogue, blade first. "I will be the death of you."

Seerath lay there, unable to put up any meaningful resistance and watched as his own dagger slowly came closer and closer to releasing him from this tormenting pain.

"And I will be the death of you." The death knight next to Rivendare stated.

Seerath watched as the Baron's eyes nearly popped out of his head in surprise and he instantly forgot about him and turned to face his attacker, which did him no good. Two gauntleted hands yanked him by his throat and held him solidly in place, ensuring no escape.

"What is the meaning of this insolence?" Rivendare roared in anger.

"You have something that belongs to me." Dreadsorrow said evenly.

"And what would that be, you fool?"

Dreadsorrow's eyes narrowed and his voice took a deadly tone. "My memories."

"Ha, and you think I would willingly give them back?"

"Not yet." Dreadsorrow let go of the Baron and in the blink of an eye, he had one of his axes in hand. In a one graceful swing, he brought his axe up and it sliced through the elbow joint of Rivendare's armour where it was weaker and straight through his arm. The pale arm clad in armour dropped to the floor hand first with a sickening thump followed by the clatter of armour.

"Now, I won't ask again."

Rather than crumble under the threat of losing more appendages, Rivendare actually started to laugh. "Do you think me beaten? Do you think me broken? All you have done is damn yourself! My last act will be to destroy what you cherish!"

Dreadsorrow felt it, like a hand in his brain, grasping at everything until it found what it was looking for - a small part of his mind that had been hidden from him until now.

"Get out of my head!" Dreadsorrow snarled, shaking the Baron violently.

Rivendare just chuckled in response. "You memories are _mine_ to do with as I please."

The hand's fingers closed around the space as if it were a delicate egg, applying pressure before it yielded and was crushed, being destroyed utterly. Dreadsorrow felt no pain. It was just a blank, empty spot in his mind, where something should have been, yet wasn't.

"NO!" Dreadsorrow cried out in anger.

The Baron's evil laugh filled the room, echoing slightly of the walls.

Now in a furious rage, Dreadsorrow directed his anger towards the man in front of him. He threw him forward and wielded both his axes before lunging at the Baron, hacking away until his blasted laughing stopped. Before long, the once powerful Baron Rivendare of Stratholme, now sprawled across his desk, was utterly dead. It was then, in the silence that followed, that Dreadsorrow felt the tingle in the back of his head. It felt like a massive weight that had been lifted – a weight that didn't even know he had. But now it was gone, and in its absence, a flood of images and feelings and emotions poured into him. It was overwhelming. He took off his helmet and put a hand to his head as if it would help relieve the intensity of it all. Gradually, the flow slowed then stopped altogether as all of his memories were restored. Everything except that one black hole in his mind that still hung there, empty and taunting. Maybe, if he -

"Thank you…" rasped a nearby voice, interrupting his thoughts and reminding him he wasn't alone.

It was the assassin. Somehow, he was still alive, albeit barely. "What?" Dreadsorrow replied, walking over to him.

"The…Baron. He was my…last mission." Seerath said, pain clinging to his every word.

Dreadsorrow glanced over the Baron. He still lay on the desk, his chest a bloody pulp from when Dreadsorrow had vented his anger. Looking back to the night elf, he knelt down on one knee and spoke softly. "Then your mission is complete. You will die with honour."

Seerath weakly nodded a thank you. Now, with a sense of accomplishment at having his last task completed one way or another, Seerath finally gave up on the struggle and he embraced the pain, letting the darkness swallow him and he passed on.

Dreadsorrow leaned forward and closed Seerath's eyes. "Suffer well, brother. You've earned that much"

Silence fell over the room and Dreadsorrow contemplated what he would do now with his newfound freedom. It didn't last as long as he would have liked.

"Congratulations, you killed the Baron of Stratholme, now can you get me the hell outta here?" a voice shouted, following by the noise of metal rattling.

Across the other side of the room, where all the iron cages were, was one at the forefront, containing a still live prisoner. Dressed in a fraying cultist robe and covered in bruises, he clung to two of the bars, shaking them as hard as he could. "C'mon pal, a little help?" he asked again, rattling the bars once again for good measure.

Dreadsorrow grunted with annoyance but decided he would be 'charitable'. "As much as I don't care about one measly cultist…" He started before he approached the cell and smashed the lock cleanly off with the pommel of one of his axes. '…you are still a witness, and that, I cannot have."

Horror spread across the face of the captive as the death knight's intentions were made clear. He put his palms up in front of him in a gesture of peace. "Hey whoa, don't kill me – look, I'm not even a cultist, I'm with the Argent Dawn!" This however, made Dreadsorrow stop in his tracks.

"Prove it. Right now or you die." The grip on his axes tightened, wary of treachery.

The supposed Argent Dawn agent immediately started to rip off what as left of his left sleeve, tearing it off completely, before raising his arm high in the air. It was so small, Dreadsorrow almost missed it. On the underside of his arm, just above his armpit was a tiny tattoo. Closer inspection revealed it to be a sun with eight interspaced triangles coming out of it - the symbol of the Argent Dawn.

"We get the tattoo so that we don't have to carry around anything material that would betray us to Cult inspections." The agent explained.

Dreadsorrow nodded in agreement. It was a good concept. "So how did they find out you worked for the Argent Crusade?"

The crusader snorted derisively. "They didn't. I screwed up a Cult of the Damned ceremony and earned the ire of him." He nodded in the general direction of the Baron. "But enough about me. You killed Rivendare and the enemy of my enemy, as they say. So look, sooner or later, someone is going to come in here searching for that overrated corpse and when they find him, this city is going to be locked down tighter than a Sentinel's bow string."

"What do you propose?" Dreadsorrow inquired.

"Well, when you killed him, pretty much anything that he exerted direct, personal control over would have broken free. I think you'll find your means of escape over there." He pointed to the massive pile of bones on the other side of the room.

Looking over the stacks of bones, Dreadsorrow could see nothing obvious that he could use to get away with. Opening his mind, he remotely searched through the bones, using his will to see if there was actually anything of use there. The mental screeches of ravagers invaded his mind as he brushed past them, but they faded as he moved on in his search before he heard a noise he was all too familiar with. Grinning to himself, Dreadsorrow concentrated on the sound and wrapped his mind around it, exerting his mental strength and binding the weaker mind to do his bidding.

The task completed, Dreadsorrow commanded his new subject to come forth. Instantly, bones and the odd piece of armour flew from the mass pile of bones and started to form a spinning ball of bleached bone and blackened armour. After a brief burst of necromantic energy enveloped small group of bones, it quickly dissipated as fast as it had come, revealing Dreadsorrow's escape plan. He was going to ride out on the skeletal steed of Baron Rivendare which was now bound to his will. It brushed the floor with its front hoof and let out a ghostly whinny, approving of its new master.

Dreadsorrow briskly walked over and inspected the steed before patting it on the back of the head. "She is a fine mount and will serve me well." The skeletal horse let another whiney loose, apparently satisfied with his assertion. Dreadsorrow turned back to the undercover crusader. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"Velieros" He stated.

Dreadsorrow smiled – not quite enough to be friendly, but it held no malice regardless. "Well Velieros, today is your lucky day. Now I shall help you as you have helped me. Go to the Armoury and within is a blacksmith by the name of Fred. Tell him that what has transpired here and that you are a friend of Dreadsorrow. He will be able to hide you until it has quietened down."

"Thank you, friend." Velieros said, bowing slightly to show his gratitude.

Putting a foot in one of the stirrups, Dreadsorrow deftly threw himself up and over and mounted his new steed. "You can thank me by telling anyone who asks that is was a paladin by the name of Anadelias who killed the Baron and got away. It will help throw off any pursuers I might acquire."

Velieros gave the death knight a half lopsided smile. "Consider it done." He ran a hand through his ragged hair. "I better be going before someone stumbles upon us here."

Dreadsorrow nodded in agreeance before he kicked a heel into his steed and it took off through the massive double doors and out to freedom.

Velieros watched him leave and silently wished him luck. When the death knight was out of sight, he moved over the body of the night elf. He wasn't going to leave him here without letting his relatives know what had happened to him. A quick search of his pockets turned up a few gold coins, an assassination contract and what appeared to be a small pendant that had a few words inscribed on it that he wasn't able to translate. Probably in his native tongue thought Velieros. Gathering up the effects and placing them in a small satchel he had also scrounged, he said a quick prayer to the Light for the night elf's soul and left to find the Armoury, leaving behind the sanctum of Baron Rivendare and never looking back for a second.


	7. Acceptance

_**Chapter **__**VII**_

_**A**_mmet stared ahead in a strange combination of fear and awe as she eyed the being that floated about a foot off the ground while it stared out at the gathered candidates with its icy, unblinking gaze. She remembered the tales her Ana had told her about the war and she knew instantly that what she was looking at was a lich. Its flowing robes covered in a sort of permafrost and indifferent demeanour coupled with the cold, unholy chains that were wrapped around its torso erased all doubt in her mind that it could be little else. Liches were powerful necromancers and sorcerers that possessed a direct telepathic link to their namesake, the Lich King – ruler of the entire Scourge. Arrogant and confident in their abilities, her husband had once said, they commanded the Scourge from the rear lines, using their dangerous frost magic and necromantic powers to bolster the undead forces. All entire aside, Ammet still had to get accepted by this lich here and now if she had any chance of getting into Stratholme and saving her Ana.

The lich surveyed the gathered candidates as it floated silently. The majority of them were just sheep following the herd and would likely just end up as cannon fodder, but it sensed there was a couple promising volunteers within the group. Suddenly, the lich pointed an icy, fleshless finger at a random human that was a few meters away from Ammet.

"You. Step forward." The lich's voice sounded deep and harsh as it grated against Ammet's ears.

The selected applicant stepped forward out of the crowd and looked up at the horned skeletal head of the lich with a slight fanatical twinkle in his eyes.

"Why do you wish to join the Cult of the Damned, mortal?"

The human swallowed before answering. "To serve the Lich King and destroy his enemies." He said, shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot whilst awaiting the lich's response.

"A standard answer." The lich replied, slowly gliding forward, coming nearly waist to face with the human. Extending his bony hand as the human looked up, the lich created a hazy purple mist around him, lifting the surprised human off the ground and up to eye level with the lich. The human whimpered ever so softly as the lich's gaze bore into him with its unnatural glowing blue orbs that replaced organic eyes in the hollow sockets of the skull.

"Hmmmm." The lich tilted his head almost imperceptibly as it examined the subject in its unholy grip. "Almost no arcane affinity, muscle structure just under average, intelligence..." The lich hesitated and it went so quiet, one could hear the chains wrapped around its skeletal torso rattle minutely. "...sub-par. You do not meet the requirements to join the Cult, but rest assured, I have no doubt that you will excel in your new position that I have designated for you within the Scourge."

The mist dissipated and the human fell hard onto the ground. "Please, I beg of you, great one, I can learn, I can become better! I swear it!"

As the lich looked down upon the kneeling human, he floated back over to the small circular platform and positioned himself in the middle.

"Well, I had intended to use you for abomination parts, but as you seem so insistent, I will spare you from that fate."

"Oh, thank you master, I will prove you right, I won't let you down!"

The lich let out a cold, frosty chuckle before answering. "Guards, this one is to be spared from the abomination labs." The human smiled at hearing this. "Instead, kill him and have necromancers raise him as a ghoul." The human's smile vanished.

"But, but master, I thought..."

"Think about it, my servant, what better way to serve the Lich King, than to become a soldier in his armies, bringing glory to his name by killing his enemies. Isn't that what you yourself asked to do and what you wanted? In addition to that, you still gain our promise of being granted immortality though undeath." The lich waved its bony hand dismissively. "Take him away." Two burly Cultist guards moved in and dragged the conscripted human away to his new life of servitude in the Scourge.

Ammet stared as the guards, both living she noticed, removed the man and she quickly turned her attention back to the lich on the dais that had started address the remainder of the prospective members.

"As for the rest of you, Instructor Malicia will oversee the rest of the proceedings and determine which among you are viable enough to join the Cult of the Damned."

Ammet then watched as the lich teleported away with a surge of frost magic and small snowflakes drifted lazily through the air where he was not but a few seconds ago. Realising that she no longer had to be under the scrutiny of a Scourge lich to be accepted, a smile formed on her face, although it wouldn't be there for long.

Malicia, a fair haired woman of medium height and a nasty disposition, moved up to the platform where the lich previously was and rapt the base of her staff on the dais twice, silencing the murmurs of the crowd and drawing all attention to her.

"There will be three groups. If you are told you are number one, move to the left. If you are a two go to the right. If you are a three, stay in the middle. Once everyone has been sorted, you will begin your new lives in the service of the Lich King."

She nodded to one of the guards off to her side. The guard then turned to the group of waiting Cultists and motioned for them to follow him. As they did, they waved a hand over the midnight black orbs each one of them carried and a faint glow started to radiate from very centre of the orbs. The orb-carriers dispersed throughout the crowd and began categorising out the supplicants. Standing in front of a test subject, they raised the orbs and muttered a few words with the orb reacting in turn.

Ammet saw several people near her have the orb test them and have it turn a dark brown colour with the carrier telling them they were now number three. As the carriers worked their way through the crowd, one approached the woman to Ammet's immediate right. As the carrier raised his orb and spoke the words, a few silent seconds passed and the orb changed colour to a deep blue. Raising an eyebrow, another few silent seconds passed before the orb-carrier finally branded her as a 'one' and she moved off to join the other group of 'ones' that had slowly accumulated.

Ammet mentally braced herself as the orb-carrier stopped in front of her and held up his iridescent black orb.

This is it, she thought, its make or break time. Summoning all her willpower to keep a straight face and hold her emotions in check, Ammet stood there rigid and stared at the orb that would decide her fate. Initially, it made no change, making her fear that she would be rejected, but slowly, the cloudy orb roiled within and turned a dark blue. The carrier grumbled at the orb's change of colour.

Letting out a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding, Ammet relaxed unintentionally let her defences down at the same time, unused to keep the mental barriers in place at all, much less an extended period of time. Almost on cue, the cloudy orb roiled again, more furiously this time, and the deep blue faded to black before turning into a bright turquoise.

This time, the orb carrier raised both eyebrows, the look of disbelief on his face appearing almost comical in contrast to his dark robes and unnatural surroundings. Lowering the orb, he told Ammet that she was definitely a 'one' and slowly shuffled off to another waiting candidate. Taking the actions of the cultist and the orb as a good omen, she joined the other group of 'ones' and looked back over to the few remaining untested applicants.

When the rest had been tested, the majority of which were 'threes', Malicia once again spoke to the groups.

'Now that everyone has been sorted, group one shall follow me, group two will accompany Marduk Blackpool and group three will remain here..." A sinister smile ever so briefly played upon her lips before she continued. "...with the Ravenian, who will assist you in beginning your new life in the Scourge." With that said, Malicia turned and headed up the hill towards the ruined building that sat decrepitly at the top. Group two likewise followed Blackpool as he too headed towards the sorry excuse for a structure.

Ammet did not like Malicia's smile one bit and knew when people like her smiled, good things never happened. Seconds later, her suspicions were confirmed when the screaming started form the bottom of the hill. A huge, bestial and unnatural roar momentarily drowned out the agonised shouts of pain and terror before subsiding and the screaming could be heard again. It was then that Ammet realised the Ravenian was slaughtering the failed candidates, one by one so that they may be raised as ghouls or used for abomination parts and who-knows-what other undead horrors.

Still following Malicia, Ammet willed herself not to turn around and witness the carnage, taking every bit of mental courage to put on foot in front of the other and ignore the scene behind her. As they reached the front of the looming building, it didn't look quite as unstable up close. Malicia lead the soon-to-be-cultists through a heavy wooden door off to the side and down a flight of stairs that seemed to descend forever into the shadows.

As Ammet walked down the staircase, she could still faintly hear the dying throes of the Ravenian's victims outside and she suppressed a shudder as she continued down the stairs and finally wondered what she had gotten herself into.

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Sorry for the long wait for the update my lovely readers! I have started to write smaller chapters so that I can update more frequently. There was also some issue with Italics when uploading and the fact that all my previous author notes have disappeared . Anyway, let me know what you think, review and enjoy! : D


	8. Depression

Well, here is Chapter 8, hope you guys enjoy it! : D_**  
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_**Chapter **__**VIII**_

_**T**_ he bartender stood behind the bar, cleaning the glass stein with his not-quite-so-clean chequered rag. Whilst cleaning, he eyed the crowd that was in the tavern tonight. A few regulars, a travelling merchant, two off duty guards and some guy by himself in a corner. Well, as long as he paid for his drinks and didn't cause trouble, he could sprout horns for all he cared. He finished cleaning the stein and held it up to inspect it. In the low light of the tavern, it would pass for clean. Satisfied with the results, he placed it under the bar next to the other steins and begun to slowly wipe down the not-quite-so-clean bar with the chequered rag. As his beady eyes surveyed the crowd again, he saw the lone guy in the corner raise his empty stein, signalling he wanted another. The bartender took a stein from under the bar, filled it with another dwarven ale and took it over to the table.

"That'll be ten silver." The bartender muttered.

In response, the man at the table rummaged through a pouch at his waist and deposited the required amount onto the table.

The bartender greedily scooped up the silver pieces and went back to the bar, leaving the man alone again.

The man's thick hand unhurriedly took the handle of the stein and drew it closer to himself. Even in the dim light of the tavern, one could see that he was heavily muscled and wore piecemeal chainmail armour and not a person to pick a fight with, especially if the hammer that rested near his chair was anything to go by.

Raising the drink, he took a long swig before putting it back down with a heavy sigh.

_I'm a failure. I can't keep a promise, I can't find one man, I can't do anything right. Look at me – just another lowlife drunk in a tavern, just another failure that can't do anything right. They used to call me a 'hero'. Hah! If they saw me now, they would probably spit on me and laugh. I wouldn't blame them, no point stopping them; I'd probably fail at that as well. _

He let out another deep sigh and drank more of his ale as he submerged back into his thoughts.

_I can't even face her anymore either. It was hard enough the first time, breaking it to her, now to go back again and tell her that I've failed for a second time? Yeah right, like that's going to happen. I'm not even man enough to go back there, let alone talk to her. What would she say? "Oh Gavrin, I trusted you, you said you would bring my Ana back!" Poor Elencia, having me as a friend, she deserves better. I couldn't even save her husband - my best friend for Light's sake! Anadelias, old friend, I'm glad you can't see me now, see what I failure I am. I looked and I looked, but there were no tracks, no clues, no trace of you, it's like you just fell off the face of Azeroth. I tried for so long friend, but I failed. I've got no excuse. I know if we were in different shoes, you would never give up, never stop looking for me, but...I'm nowhere near the man you are. I looked so hard – but I failed and gave up. What's the point anymore? _

A cross between a groan and a sigh escaped Gavrin's lips as he lifted his stein again and finished what was left in it. Raising it above his head, he signalled the bartender to bring him a fresh one.

Suddenly, a flash of bright light filled the tavern. It was so golden and vivid, it practically blinded Gavrin. He had to hold up an arm to block his eyes, and only when two black blotches appeared in the golden light, fouling it's magnificence with their presence, was he able to lower his arm as his eyes adjusted to what was going on.

It was...almost like... _Oh. _It was just the tavern door open. The two black shapes were just new patrons entering They closed the door behind them, plunging the place back into its dim state once again, and found themselves a table a few meters away from him, in another corner.

As the bartender came over with Gavrin's drink he stopped by newcomer's table. He held the filled stein in one hand and started pointing to a blunderbuss just above the bar shelves with the other. Both of the men seated were clad in dark clothes that looked like they would provide mild protection, yet not hinder flexibility. Judging by the bartender's reaction and by their clothes, Gavrin deduced that had probably caused some trouble or something similar in this tavern before.

The bartender finished his 'conversation' with the two suspect patrons and came over to Gavrin's table and put down the drink.

"You're not a regular here, so I'll give you a word of advice. Stay away from those two. They're trouble." He said in a gruff voice.

Gavrin lifted his head to look up at the bartender. "What kind of trouble?"

"The bad kind."

"So why don't you kick them out?" Gavrin inquired as he pulled out the change for the drink.

"Because they pay for their drinks and they know not to cause any problems in here."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. And the fact that this is the only tavern that sells cherry grog for miles around helps too." The bartender replied, with a touch of pride in his voice.

'Ahhh' was all Gavrin said as he nodded slightly and turned his attention back to his drink.

_Trouble. Huh. They probably get some sucker drunk and then offer to take him home and then rob him blind on the way. Or get really drunk themselves and start fights with random people or something. Or maybe even..._

As he thought about the different possibilities, Gavrin could have sworn he caught one of them staring at him before his gaze quickly flicked back to his friend.

_Oh, what's the point? They probably know I'm a failure just by looking at me. Some guy, alone in a dank bar slowly drinking himself to death because he couldn't even find his friend. Yeah, that's me, Gavrin the Stout, reduced to a tavern drunk. Let them laugh, it doesn't matter. Maybe if I'm really lucky, they're assassins come to put me out of my misery. Yeah, like that'll happen, I can't get out of it that easily. I have to live every day knowing I'm a failure. Serves me right. Can't even find Ana. What a joke I am. _

It was then that he noticed that now they were both staring intently at him.

_Oh great, they can tell I'm a failure. Probably going to come over here and taunt me or leer. Well, if they want a fight, I won't disappoint them. Better not waste my drink then._

As Gavrin gulped down his drink, his suspicions were confirmed as he saw that both the dark-clothed men were indeed getting up and coming over to his table. They got to his table just as he thumped down the empty stein.

"Good afternoon friend." The first one said, who Gavrin noticed was the taller of the two. Tall's voice was silky smooth and was quite well spoken.

"We noticed that you looked rather down and we thought we could help you." The second, shorter one said, his voice like honey. Gavrin said nothing to either; he just kept staring up at them.

"Allow us to buy you a drink." Tall said, gesturing towards Gavrin's empty stein.

Gavrin let the offer hang in the air for a few seconds before answering with a 'sure'.

Short waved to the bartender for another drink before sitting down at the table with Tall.

"We have seen this sort of thing before." Short started. "People down on their luck, drinking their sorrows away at a tavern."

"We believe we can help you, as we have helped others in the past." Tall finished.

Gavrin scoffed at them, just as the bartender arrived with fresh drink.

As he put it down, the bartender warily eyed Tall and Short before he turned back to the bar, chequered rag over his shoulder.

"As we were saying, we think we can help you." Tall proposed.

"And just how are ya gunna be doin' that?" Gavrin asked, sceptical.

Short cocked his head slightly. "You've lost something. Someone. Your friend, he is gone."

_How did he know? Is he reading my thoughts?_

"What's going on here?" Gavrin growled.

Short merely gave him a placating smile.

"As I said, we have helped others in the past and we can help you, if you allow us." Tall proffered.

Gavrin leaned back in his seat, consternation plastered on his face as he contemplated their offer.

Who knows, they might actually be able to help. Hah! When the Searing Gorge freezes over. No one can help me. The failure is mine alone and nothing can change that.

Gavrin started to decline before Short interrupted. "You do want to help your friend, yes?"

"We can give you the power to find him. Save him." Tall said with his smooth voice, making the offer sound more tempting than it should have been.

_But, what if they're right, and they can help?_

"Either way, friend, what do you have to lose? If we cannot help you, we shall compensate you monetarily for your troubles. But if we can help you, you will have the power to find your friend." Short purred.

_Well, it does sound very tempting...it wouldn't hurt to see what they're offering I guess. For all I know, maybe they can help me. _

"Alright, I'm interested, what do I have to do?"

"Just simply come with us and we will do the rest." Short answered.

"Our camp is not far from here, just under a day's walk." Tall said.

Gavrin raised a hand and wiped some of the grime away on the window near him, letting it cast a dark orange light onto the table. "Bah, the sun is nearly gone and I don't feel like walking around blindly in the dark." Gavrin complained.

"Do not worry, friend, we have our horses around the back. They will get us there quickly." Short countered.

"Fine. But ya better pay me if this doesn't work."

"Don't worry, we will." Tall said.

"Rest assured friend, when we help you, you won't need to take the money." Short stated.

Gavrin grunted in response and stood up with Tall and Short, collecting his hammer as he went.

As Tall and Short left with Gavrin, the bartender watched them leave with his beady eyes, cleaning a glass stein with his not-quite-so-clean chequered rag.

* * *

Well, the plot thickens, as they say. : P Let me know what you guys think and drop a review! Anyhoo, hopefully I'll be started on Chapter 9 soon and get it up here. Ciao for now : D


	9. Desertion

So, my awesome readers, sorry for the wait, but this chapter kinda ended up bigger than I thought it would be. But you just get more to read, so it's all good! : ) Also, apparently the document uploader has troubles figuring out where Italics should and shouldn't be. Grrrr .

* * *

_**Chapter **__**IX**_

_**W**_ith one arm raised in the air, the half crouching ghoul looked rather silly, Ammet thought. But that said, the fact that she had managed to get it animated this much so far was good. Her current supervisor, Malicia, was also extremely impressed with her progress so far, telling Ammet as much. 'Thank you ma'am' she had replied, drawing a surprisingly sincere smile from Malicia.

"Now, remember, you only have to raise it and when that is done, the Lich King's will shall take care of the rest. The hardest part of being a necromancer is the strain raising the dead brings. But, as they say, practice makes perfect. The more you do it, the easier it will get and you will be able to raise more at a time." As if to prove her point she turned to face a mound of dead bodies piled up in the corner. Gesturing with both hands whilst they emanated dark, necromantic energies, she thrust them up into the air without a single sound and almost instantly the heaped bodies started to twitch and scrambled to get themselves up.

Satisfied, Malicia turned back to Ammet and gave another eerie smile. "Give it a few years, and you will be able to do the same."

Ammet simply nodded in agreement.

The example now over, Malicia made a horizontal chopping motion and the freshly raised undead fell back down to the ground in a pile as if they were marionettes whose strings had just been cut.

"Now," Malicia began, "I want you to practice as much as you can between now and noon tomorrow. That is when my next class will be and you, my dear Ammet, shall be its star pupil."

Ammet bowed and thanked Malicia for her graciousness.

"Just be careful not to burn yourself out – I need you in perfect form."

"Do not worry, I will be fine." Ammet replied.

With that, Malicia left her alone and Ammet headed back to her quarters, deep in her thoughts.

_I have come so far this past week and still they suspect nothing. So far so good, everything is working and soon I will have my Ana back. All this necromantic energy though, it cannot be good for me long term. Hopefully it won't be too much longer before I find some kind of sign to my Ana's whereabouts. But still, I never thought something like raising the dead would be so...so easy! I always pictured it involving some type of long lost ritual with candles and – _

Her thoughts were disrupted by a cultist passing her and shouldering his way past.

"Hey..." Ammet started before being cut off.

"Watch where you're going, student." He said with a sneer and putting emphasis on her lower rank and highlighting the scar running down his entire right cheek.

"I am sorry. I'll be more careful in the future."

"See that you are." The cultist snapped as he stalked off.

Ammet shook her head at his rudeness and continued on towards her quarters. Along the way, she peered through the open doors in the hallway as she strolled past. There was a storeroom for abomination parts, another held shelf upon shelf of huge jars filled with an unidentifiable liquid. There was even one with several skeletons milling about, doing nothing in particular. It was the last room however, that really caught her attention.

It was a simple room with a miscellaneous smattering of furniture, but in the middle of the room, atop an ornamented pedestal, was one of the largest scrying orbs she had ever seen. Stopping and outright staring into the room, she could see that this orb could easily pinpoint the whereabouts of her beloved down to a millimetre. As much as she wished to just race over and use it now, she held herself in check and started walking back to the student quarters again.

Using that orb would certainly cut down on the time she had to spend in this tainted and malevolent place, but catch was, if someone trained in the arts of the orb caught her in the act or checked to see what the last thing scryed was, her charade would be up and if that happened, not a disguise in the world would save her.

Getting back her communal quarters and dragging her lethargic body into the rough bed she started to think up ways to use the powerful scrying orb without the dark masters of this place catching her. It wasn't long before sleep took over her tired mind and she surrendered to its seductive trance.

The next day - or at least Ammet assumed it was day as there were no windows in the student quarters - Ammet mentally prepared herself for the coming class in which she was to be the star. What that meant, she herself had no idea but she would not ask another student, for that would seem like a weakness and she would have none of that. Whatever it was, she would just have to do her best and hope that it was enough.

When she had finally made it to the room where Malicia normally taught, it was empty, not a single soul in sight. As she wondered where everyone was or even if she was too early, a noise behind her made Ammet whip around.

"Hello?" she asked cautiously.

No one answered. Frowning, she spun back around and let out a startled yelp as an incorporeal black skull materialised mere centimetres in front of her.

"Boo". It stated, expressionless.

Ammet frowned and put her hands on her hips. "Very funny. I bet you get a kick out of doing that."

The shade slowly wafted backwards as the rest of his form materialised in a billow of magical black smoke. "Scaring initiates is how I make the day go faster. It never fails to amuse me..." the shades voiced echoed slightly and trailed off.

"Where is Malicia's class?"

"Ahhh, so you are the star pupil. Hmmm." The shade appraised her with its empty eye sockets. "Yes, indeed. They have moved."

Ammet frowned at the shade's lack of helpfulness. "But where?"

The shade started to fade away, the black smoke that shrouded its body dissipating.

"To the viewing room..." it said before fading away completely.

Sighing with exasperation at the shade's behaviour, Ammet left the classroom and headed to the viewing room.

When she reached it she found, Malicia standing in the doorway, waiting for her.

"Ammet, I'm glad you found your way here, I was beginning to think you might have lost your way." The strange playfulness of her tone suggested that she might have known about the shade, or even sent him herself.

"Just getting in some more practice while I could." Ammet replied neutrally.

"Hmm, good, good. I have something that should help with your performance today." From a hidden pocket in her robe, she produced a small sliver of a purple tinted crystal and pushed it into Ammet open hand. "Keep it close, keep it hidden and tell no one of it."

As Ammet stared down at the tiny crystal, she could feel her consciousness expand considerably and her unholy powers being bolstered by the almost insignificant purple crystal in her hand. As she hid it in the fold of her own robe, Malicia explained to her that is was a shard from an Ash'tari crystal and it would help her immensely.

Ammet thanked Malicia, but the Instructor waved her praise away.

"It serves both our purposes for you to do well here today. Just go in there and do what they ask of you."

"I will." Ammet replied obediently.

Malicia gave Ammet a once over with her steel hard eyes. "I have plans for you, my star pupil and you and I will go far working together. Now go, do me proud."

With a nod, Ammet took a deep breath and proceeded into the viewing room to face whatever challenges the masters of the dark school had prepared for her.

After several hours of tests and challenges, Ammet was utterly exhausted. Her focus and abilities had been pushed to the brink but she had persevered and made it through. Fatigue was now starting to set in, slowing her movements and dulling her senses.

Before she could escape to her dorm and embrace the bed like a long lost friend and enter a blissful deep sleep, Malicia appeared next to her.

"I just wanted you to know that you have done extremely well. I have not seen another student do so well in the trials before."

Tired as she was, Ammet still remembered the proper etiquette; bowing shallowly and thanking her Instructor.

"It's really taken a lot out of me - even with the Ash'tari crystal helping me."

Malicia's long elven ears bobbed up and down as she nodded in agreement. "Yes, the trails are one of a student's hardest feats. But should they manage to pass they are assured a place in the Cult."

Ammet could only smile at Malicia's words, too fatigued to respond.

"And should they do particularly well, as you have done," Malicia said with a smile creeping on to her face, "they are often assigned to a large Scourge stronghold as place to learn quickly and put their new powers to good use. In this case, the closest one to here would be Stratholme."

That caught Ammet's attention. Her fatigue, which plagued her only a second ago, was now forgotten, replaced by a keen sense of alertness upon hearing the words she could only dream of.

"I would be transferred to Stratholme?"

"Oh, indeed – especially with a student of your calibre." Malicia responded.

Thoughts darted around in Ammet's mind like wildfire in a dust devil.

_Is it really possible? Am I dreaming? Are they really planning to send me to where I need to go? Amazing, this is actually turning out better than expected. Hah, it looks like Ammet was the right path to take. Poor weak Elencia could never have gotten this far. _

"Get a good night's rest and then see me in the morning. We shall start the paperwork to fully induct you as a member of the Cult and transfer you to Stratholme." Malicia ordered.

"Yes, right away mistress." Ammet quickly answered, big smile beaming on her face.

_"__What do you mean, dead?"_

"Killed m'lady, at least two days ago." The courier had answered.

Ammet had been on her way to the Vault to meet Malicia who in turn was meeting with the lich, Ras Frostwhisper. Just before she had entered the Vault however, the screams of Malicia's rage had stayed her feet. As she listened from just around the doorway, she could hear the anger in the Instructor's voice.

"Who would dare strike against the might of the Scourge in our own stronghold? Who would dare such a brazen act without fear of our wrath?"

"A paladin m'lady. He had been captured but escaped."

"And managed to kill Baron Rivendare in the process too, no less." Came the deep, grating voice of the lich, Ras. Ammet recognised voice as the same one from the lich that had been present the day she was chosen to enter Scholomance.

"Do the fools have a name? Surely they know that much." Malicia asked, referring to the Stratholme guards.

"Yes, m'lady. They say that a man named Anadelias was responsible."

Ammet nearly fell over at the mention of her husband's name. _My beloved! He lives – I knew it! They did capture him, but he escaped and killed his captors. I knew he wasn't dead; he would not leave me like that._

"Anadelias? He sounds familiar. I believe Rivendare had plans for him...but if the message this courier bears is true, then is seems that the Baron's arrogance finally got the better of him, underestimating a paladin." Ras thought out aloud.

"You!" Malicia's sharp voice made Ammet jump, thinking she had been discovered. "What is your name?" She asked.

"Velieros, m'lady." The courier answered.

Letting out the breath she had been holding, Ammet regained her composure and continued to listen in.

"Listen closely Velieros, when you leave this room, you are to tell no one of what has happened. Go straight back to Stratholme and tell the highest ranking person you find that we will be sending an envoy soon and to expect their arrival. Now go."

"Right away m'lady." Ammet could hear the courier turn and head for the door.

Straightening up and taking a few steps back, she waited until Velieros' footsteps sounded like they were right at the door and then she started walking forward.

Velieros rounded the corner and stopped short just before he collided with Ammet.

"You again!" He said, eyes widening.

Ammet saw the scar on the right of his face and instantly recognised Velieros from her previous encounter with him.

"We really should stop meeting like this." She said coyly.

"No doubt." Velieros commented as he pushed past Ammet.

"Wait." Ammet turned with him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Is it true what you said, that a paladin named Anadelias killed the Baron?"

Velieros was about to tell he to mind her own business, but when he looked into her eyes, there was something there that told him she needed to know.

"Yes, it was. Look, I'd stay and talk, but I really have to go."

"I understand. You don't want to be on Malicia's bad side." Ammet managed a smile.

With nothing further to say, Velieros nodded and hurried off to carry out the Instructor's orders.

Ammet took a deep breath, exhaled and then entered the Vault to meet with her mistress.

As she entered, Malicia was already striding towards Ammet purposefully with a devious smile on her face.

"Good news Ammet, you are now an official member of the Cult of the Damned." Malicia clasped her hands in front of her. "We can begin preparations immediately."

As Ammet looked around the Vault, she noticed that the lich had disappeared, telling Malicia as much.

"He's gone to take care of some other Scourge business for the time being. What happens here between us stays between us."

Malicia motioned for Ammet to take a seat at a nearby table and they both sat down, on opposite sides.

"Now, as I'm sure you overheard," Malicia started, "Baron Rivendare is dead. That means there will be a power vacuum until someone rises to take his place, whether through violence or political manoeuvring, it doesn't matter. The fact of the matter is, we, as in Scholomance, need to send an emissary to oversee our interests and declare whoever takes the Baron's place to be acknowledged by Scholomance. This is where you come in. As the school's newest and most promising Cultist, and the only one whom I trust as well, I will be sending you to Stratholme in my stead."

Ammet put on her best smile for Malicia. "I am honoured to be given such an esteemed role, Instructor." Ammet replied diplomatically, even using Malicia's correct honorific.

"This also brings me to my other reasons for choosing you. As I said before, you are the only one I trust and because of that you will be my eyes and ears within Stratholme, reporting to me directly and telling me all that transpires. To stay in power and ascend the ranks of the Cult, one must have knowledge. Together, we will go far, I know it." Malicia's eyes sparkled with visions of grandeur.

Suddenly, an amazingly crazy idea formed in Ammet's mind. It was very daring and risky, but if it worked, there would be everything to gain. Leaning back in her chair, Ammet folded her arms and allowed a genuine smile to cross her face.

"Tell me, have they caught the paladin who murdered the Baron?"

"Not as of yet, no. Somehow he has eluded capture." Malicia answered.

"Then I have the perfect 'tribute' of sorts from Scholomance for whoever ends up as the new leader of Stratholme."

Malicia's eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly, meaning she was clearly interested. "Please, continue."

"Just think, what better tribute from the renowned Scholomance than to present the new leader of Stratholme with than none other than the location of the paladin who murdered their predecessor? That way," Ammet explained, "we present one of the most valuable tributes under the circumstances, the new leader saves face and gains his political powerbase by hunting down Rivendare's killer and I stay in Stratholme as an esteemed emissary all the while providing you with the knowledge you need."

For a long while, Malicia said nothing. Before the silence grew awkward however, a devious smile formed on her lips. "Amazing. Simply amazing. I knew I choose you for a good reason. But," Malicia hesitated, "there is only one problem."

"The location of the paladin?" Ammet suggested.

"Exactly. He escaped and no one has any leads on his whereabouts."

Now it was Ammet's turn to smile deviously. "Let's just say that if I were to be left unattended in a certain room with a certain scrying orb, that problem would be rendered moot."

One of Malicia's long ears twitched gently. "Not only can she raise the dead, but she can scry as well! I _have_ chosen well."

"I will have the location of the...paladin within the hour." Ammet could not bring herself to say her beloved's name for she was not sure if she could control her emotions if she did.

"Excellent. Come to me straight away when you do and I'll prepare you for your journey to Stratholme. I will be waiting in my quarters."

"Very well Instructor." Ammet bowed slightly as she got up from the table and left Malicia in the Vault to her own thoughts.

The massive scrying orb sat atop its ornate pedestal, an inky dark cloud roiling around within, indicating its inactive state. As Ammet approached the orb, her hands slowly crept forward, eager to the magical surface, yet hesitant at the same time. With great care, she gently placed the tips of her fingers upon the crystalline orb and almost instantly, she felt the tingle of arcane magic as it ran up her arms and through the rest of her body. It coursed through Ammet and made her feel like she could see the length and breadth of Azeroth all though this orb in front of her. Quickly, she shook her head and dissuaded such notions. To do so was weak and folly. The orb only provided to those with the power to use it. The weak would be lost forever in the false feeling of omniscience it provided. But she would have none of that, finding her beloved was more important.

_Right. I only have to find my Ana and then I can finally leave this place. The only problem is, I don't have Ana's candle to help scry for him. Or anything of his on me actually. Hmmmm. Ah ha!_

Quickly, Ammet withdrew a hand from the orb and slipped into the folds of her robe, and brought out her small sliver of Ash'tari crystal Malicia had let her keep.

_Her mistake is my gain__. _Ammet thought with great satisfaction.

Pressing her other hand fully against the orb's surface and tightly clutching the crystal in the other, she concentrated hard on the image of her husband, her mind going back to the day he surprised her with the carved tree. The way the light shone down through the trees and the twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

All of these thoughts she poured into the Ash'tari crystals, using it as a focus for the scrying orb to find her husband. The orb itself reacted with the odd combination and use of magics with surprisingly little resistance. The gray, cloudy interior continually expanded then collapsed in on itself, almost like it was a beating heart, it such a thing were possible. Then, when it expanded next, colour suddenly burst from within, revealing a scene to Ammet's eyes.

It was a building, two stories, but low set with sparse windows. There was a sign on the front, hanging down above the door that read _'The High Brow.' _And underneath that in smaller letters: _'Last cherry grog for 100 miles'__._ There was a cloaked figure near the entrance, roughly the same height and build of her Ana.

_It's him! It's really him! I've found him! _

Diving deeper past the image the orb had conjured, she mentally recorded the location the orb had shown her and then withdrew from the orb entirely, and removed her hand, crudely cutting the connection. The image within disappeared, swallowed by the roiling gray cloud, thereby wiping clean any record she was here and ensuring the orb kept its secrets undisclosed.

As the first rays of sunlight crept over the mountains from the sunrise, Ammet was on her way to Stratholme, mounted upon a skeletal horse with an escort of four ghouls and two banshees, graciously provided by Malicia.

It's now or never, I have to make my move or by the time I reach the tavern I will have lost my Ana's trail – and I won't be able to use the Cult scrying orb to find him again.

She pulled on the reins of the undead horse, letting it know to stop. When it did, she dismounted and curtly told her escorts she needed to answer the call of nature and to wait there before disappearing into woods. After about a minute, she suddenly called out for the help of the two banshees.

When they reached Ammet however, whatever they were expecting was not the sight they saw. Before them, an intricately drawn circle with interwoven runes was on the ground with Ammet right in the middle. The magic circle was already thrumming with power and the runes glowed dark green.

Ammet lifted her head, which was covered by her cloak, and looked at the two bewildered banshees.

"I'm sorry, but your magical bodies are necessary to fuel the ritual to get me out of here."

With that, she lifted her arm and outstretched her hand towards the banshees and revealed that she was holding the Ash'tari crystal. One blink of an eye later, the foremost banshee was being siphoned into the crystal; its entire body being compressed into a thin strand of magical essence before the crystal consumed it whole like a human would suck up a strand of spaghetti. The second banshee managed to start wailing before being silenced and also consumed by the ravenous crystal – which was now swollen with arcane energy.

Now that the two banshees were consumed and empowering the Ash'tari crystal, Ammet held it above her head and uttered a string of dark, vulgar Scourge-speak words and then threw the crystal to the ground with all her might. It shattered instantly and a dark green flash of energy lit up the entire area for a second before subsiding entirely.

As the dust settled, the runes that had been drawn up were now gone, the shards of the shattered crystal had disappeared and Ammet herself was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

I debated with myself for quite sometime whether or not to end the chapter like this, but I ended up doing it anyway, so let me know what you think : ) As usual, R&R : D


	10. Pursuit

Sorry for the shorter chapter, but the next one (or maybe two, I haven't decided yet) will be really long and full of twists and suspense, promise! : D

* * *

_**Chapter **__**X**_

_**F**_ather Malroy had been a priest of the Light for as long as anyone could remember. It was through his service to the Light that he had met and befriended a young Anadelias and helped nurture his talents with the Light and set him on the path to becoming a paladin. This was why upon hearing the news of Anadelias' death, he had broken down and not spoken for days. It was also because of this life-long friendship that he had gone to a secluded farmhouse in the middle of nowhere on a whim upon receiving a note from the supposedly dead paladin, asking him to meet here. He had found the meeting spot, an old barn around the back, and had been waiting for nearly an hour, wondering to himself what he expected to get out of this clandestine meeting.

Before he could dwell anymore on the matter, Malroy heard the old barn door creak open and waited for the newcomer to find their way to him. Rounding the corner was a male in non-descript simple clothes and a travelling cloak that also had a hood, which was conveniently obscuring their face at present.

"Father Malroy, I'm glad you came." Came the deep, foreboding voice from within the hood.

Malroy instantly fell into a defensive stance with his staff in front of him, ready to parry any attacks. "Come no closer – I can sense your undeath from here!"

"I do not intend to harm you Father, merely talk." He replied.

"I will not listen to any lies you spout."

"Would you accuse Leonid Barthalomew of spouting lies just because he is undead as well?"

Malroy visibly relaxed a little. "I suppose you have a point."

The hooded man nodded. "And I have also come unarmed and with no hostile intent." He lifted his arms away from his sides and turned around once to prove that he was in fact, unarmed.

Father Malroy nodded in the direction of an upturned feed trough. "Let us talk then."

Both men sat down on the rusted makeshift bench, although Malroy still kept a respectable distance from the hooded figure.

"Well, as I'm sure you're well aware; I'm Father Malroy. And you are?"

The other man let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose we might as well get this out of the way now."

He lifted both his hands to the hem of his hood and drew it back, revealing his pale-gray face, dark grey hair and his eyes that glowed with an unnatural light blue hue.

"I am Dreadsorrow, Death Knight and free of the Scourge's grasp." He hesitated. "But you would remember me better as...Anadelias."

Malroy nearly fell off his 'seat' at the revelation. Visibly shocked, his hand trembled slightly as he held onto his staff for support.

"Ana..." Malroy's voice broke momentarily "Anadelias, is that ready you?"

Dreadsorrow grumbled noisily. "No, Anadelias is dead, physically at least. Mentally, I still have memories of a past life, but that's it. No pity or guilt or emotion." Dreadsorrow knew the last part was a lie, but he did not need anyone else to believe anything except the status quo for now.

Malroy eyed the plain-clothed death knight opposite him warily. "If you really were Anadelias, then you should know the answer to this: How did we first meet?"

Surprisingly, the question drew a smile from the undead man sitting on the other end of the trough.

"I was young, twelve I think, chasing my best friend – Gavrin – through the streets of Lordaeron when I turned a corner and slammed into someone and knocked them over. I later found out it was you whom I had run into. It was not long after that that you helped me onto the path of becoming a paladin."

"Oh, Anadelias, my boy, what have they done to you?" Father Malroy said, his voice choked with emotion.

Dreadsorrow used his hand to indicate the state of his body. "I thought it was obvious. But my current condition is of no consequence. There is another reason I asked you here."

"You still tricked me into coming here, using the name of a dead friend to guarantee my coming."

Dreadsorrow scoffed. "Technically, I am still Anadelias, from a certain point of view. So it wasn't a lie."

Malroy rolled his eyes. "Of course it wasn't. So tell me then, my boy, why did you ask me here, in the middle of nowhere, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears?"

Dreadsorrow's mood shifted noticeably from ever-so-slightly jovial back to serious and blunt. "Gavrin. I need to find him."

Like an unconscious reciprocation, Malroy's mood changed as well. His shoulders sagged at the mention of Anadelias' lifelong friend.

"Ahh, my boy, it's a sad state of affairs. Not long after Anadelias – you, disappeared, he vowed he'd find you, much like you would do if Gavrin went missing. For weeks he searched high and low for you, but he found nothing. Not long after, he slipped into a depression and began to spend more and more time at taverns, drinking his time and problems away." Malroy shook his head. "I've seen more death and destruction than most, but when a man dies within himself, it's always a tragedy."

Dreadsorrow frowned. "But where is he now, Father?"

A weary sigh escaped Malroy lips. "Last I heard he was at a tavern way down south, on the outskirts of a tiny village. The High Brow I believe it was called. It's a damn shame about that man. He had so much faith."

Dreadsorrow stood up and brushed away some vagrant oats that had stuck to this cloak from the upended trough. "I will find him, no matter how long it takes, I will find him."

Father Malory chuckled to himself. "You've got more determination that quite a few living people I know, my boy."

Dreadsorrow grunted in apparent agreement before drawing the hood back over his head.

"Tell no one of our meeting – for all intents and purposes, Anadelias is dead and I do not exist."

Malroy simply nodded his head. "Yes, my boy, I can keep a secret. I already have quite a few I will be carrying to my grave."

Satisfied, Dreadsorrow moved to leave. "Suffer well, Father."

Malroy rose with help from his staff. "May the Light be with you, my boy." He said to the death knight's back as he left.

"More than you know." Dreadsorrow added under his breath, just quietly enough that Malroy would not hear him.

As the Father of the Church of the Holy Light watched the death knight leave the barn, he smiled and recited a small prayer for Dreadsorrow's safety. _Although I really should be saying a prayer for the safety of anyone who gets in his way_ Malory mused.

* * *

Dreadsorrow stood out the front of the tavern, making sure the last of his disguise was in place before entering. He had not come this far only to fail because some drunk saw what he really was. Just as he was about to enter, a tingling sensation went up his spine and he felt that someone was watching him. He hesitated for a second while he quickly looked around but he could see no one. Satisfied that there was no immediate threat, he walked over to the tavern and entered.

Thankfully it was already evening, so there were no giant rays of sunlight pouring through the open door to announce his arrival and draw anymore unwanted attention than necessary. He quickly scanned the tavern's patrons and saw only harmless peasants. No soldiers or mercenaries to question his presence or scrutinise his disguise with a sharp military eye. Weaving between the tables and reaching the bar, he sat himself down onto one of the wooden stools and made sure his cowl was still hiding his face.

The bartender, a plump man in a severely stained shirt and a chequered rag draped over his shoulder, meandered over to Dreadsorrow to take his order.

"What'll ya have?"

Dreadsorrow did not look up, but instead turned his head in the bartender's direction. "Information."

The beady eyes of the bartender narrowed at Dreadsorrow's answer. "What kinda information?" He asked suspiciously.

"A man. He came though here not too long ago. Medium height, short black hair, muscled."

"Hmmm" The bartender scratched at the stubble on his double chin. "Ere, I'd like to help ya, but my memories aren't what they used to be, filled with 'oles they are."

Dreadsorrow let out an annoyed sigh of displeasure. "Of course it is." He reached into his travel cloak and pulled a small brown bag out before casually tossing it on the counter.

"Try harder." He said bluntly.

Beady eyes fixated upon the bulging coin bag and stubby fingers clamoured for it. The bartender opened it up and saw the glitter of gold before he quickly whisked it away and stashed the bag in his back pocket.

"Well, now that you mention it, there was a fella who looked kinda like 'bout a week ago. Had one of 'em fancy warhammers with 'im too. All truesilver and gold like, it was."

Beneath the hood that obscured his face, Dreadsorrow narrowed his eyes. "And?"

The bartender sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I was gettin' there.' He then leaned against the bar on one arm and beckoned Dreadsorrow closer with the other. The death knight did not move. After a few seconds when it was clear the death knight was not going to move closer, the bartender repositioned himself closer to Dreadsorrow.

"When he left 'ere, he was with two guys. Nasty fellas, but they don't cause trouble in here and they pay for their grog, so who am I to complain?"

"Get on with it." Dreadsorrow complained.

"Right, yeah. Anyway, these fellas, they're no good, heard rumours and the like. Folks reckon they're really them looney cultists. Twilight's Hammer they call 'em. Bloody doomsday cults. Good for business though, mind you. Everyone tries to drink their lives away before the world ends." The bartender chuckled to himself.

"Where are they now?"

"They got a camp, 'bout a day's travel east of 'ere. Give or take a few."

"I was never here." Dreadsorrow told the bartender, who nodded in response, as he got off his stool and headed for the exit.

As the bartender watched the cloaked man leave, he picked up another dirty stein in need of a decent clean and started to give it a once over with his chequered rag, keeping a close eye on the stranger until he left.

* * *

Well, let me know what you think my lovely readers! : ) R&R and I will get started on the next chapter, promise!


	11. Devotion

This is it my lovely readers! The thrilling conclusion to Part One of a two (possibly three) part story! I can't believe how quick I got the chapter done! : ) I will also be adding an epilogue hopefully soon too! : )  
Read and enjoy!

* * *

_**Chapter **__**XI**_

_**A**_fter a full day of nonstop travel, an easy feat for someone who did not get tired or have to rest, Dreadsorrow finally came upon a massive clearing that was quite clearly an established Twilight's Hammer encampment. There were several medium sized tents and one massive tent that commanded a view o the entire camp. All were dark purple in colour and decorated with hammer motifs.

The camp itself was abuzz with activity; there were Twilight cultists everywhere, some scurrying from one tent to another, some discussing things in hushed whispers in huddled circles, quite a few kneeling on the ground, praying to some unseen entity and there was even a blacksmith hammering away at a forge.

As Dreadsorrow edged closer to the camp, two cultists peeled away from stacking crates to intercept him. One wore dark leather garments, the other a purple robe.

"Greetings stranger, what brings you out this way?" The one in the robe asked.

"I wish to see Gavrin, now." Dreadsorrow bluntly said, straight to the point.

If one blinked, they would have missed the glance the two cultists shared when Gavrin's name was mentioned.

"Ahh, the new recruit. He is not here right now. You could stay and wait for him until he returns though." The leather-clad cultist suggested.

Dreadsorrow, never one to sit idly around, growled in annoyance. "No. Tell me where he has gone and I will find him myself."

Both cultists shifted uneasily on the spot. "I think you would prefer to wait." Robe said.

"Would you like a drink while you wait?" Leather offered.

Dreadsorrow closed his eyes for a second before answering. "No. Just tell me where Gavrin is so I can leave this place!"

Robe folded his arms. "You do know the end of the world is coming, right?

Leather nodded. "Yes, you should prepare for the coming apocalypse."

"ENOUGH!" Shouted Dreadsorrow, fed up with the cultists constantly dodging his questions. He drew back his hood, revealing his face and his true nature. "Tell me where he is now before I kill both of you and raze this entire camp!"

Although they looked unperturbed on the outside, Dreadsorrow doubted they were unfazed as they seemed to be.

Robe's mouth twitched slightly before he unfolded his arms and pointed to a rather wild looking section of the surrounding forest. "Firewood."

"What?" Dreadsorrow spat the word out and leaned forward slightly.

Leather seemed to recover better than his friend. "We sent him to gather some firewood in the forest."

Dreadsorrow cracked his neck in response. "You had better hope for your sakes I find him. Or I _will_ be back." Slowly, he turned and pulled his hood back over his head and started off in the direction the cultist had pointed.

As the death knight disappeared into the shadowed forest, Leather smacked Robe on the back of the head. "Firewood. Really?"

"Shut up. I didn't hear you giving him a better answer." Robe snarled.

"That's because you already gave him the best answer possible." Leather answered sarcastically.

"Yeah, yeah. Do you think he'll be back before we are ready?"

Leather scoffed. "Doubt it. He'll probably get lost in the forest. Why, are you scared?"

"Just help me with the damn crates." Robe said wearily as he hefted another crate onto the growing stack.

* * *

With a noiseless flash of green lightning, Ammet suddenly appeared in a cloud of dark green smoke. It quickly settled, leaving Ammet to take in her surroundings. Trees, ferns, noisy birds. A forest then, she decided. Not a tavern, where she was supposed to be. Frowning at her location, which appeared to be rather off course, she took her bag from her shoulder and put it gently on the ground.

From it, she took out her scrying set she had wisely kept hidden whilst at Scholomance and began to unfold the detailed map of Azeroth. Quickly, as to not linger here for too long, she scryed for herself, to find out where she was and how far away from the tavern it was.

Unsurprisingly, the small crystal needle almost immediately found her location and its point went straight to a heavily forested area near a small town – where the tavern was located and where she was meant to be.

_Ok, I'm not that far off course. But what if Ana has already moved on? Going to the tavern will only waste more time. That won't do at all. But how can I scry for him without anything to scry with?_

As Ammet pondered her situation, she didn't notice the small, inquisitive bird that had been gradually hopping towards her bag. In search of some extra food, it had seen enough travellers to know that that bags contained food – very good tasting food.

It cocked its head as it eyed the human to make sure that it wasn't watching before making a small jump onto the top of the bag. Waiting patiently for a few seconds to see if it had been detected before moving again, the bird then started to peck enquiringly at the bag itself, trying to find a way in.

It was then that Ammet noticed it. "Shoo!" she shouted as her arm lashed out to get rid of the bird. Alerted by the noise, the bird has already started to take flight before her arm was even halfway there. As such, she missed the bird completely and instead ended up backhanding her bag, knocking it over and spilling its contents over the forest floor.

Ammet cursed as the bird flew into the safety of the tree tops. She sighed and shook her head as she picked up the bag's contents, methodically picking them up one by one. Her attention was caught however, holding one particular item when the sun reflecting off it, making it stand out. When she looked down, she found herself holding a large silver coin. When she saw it, she realised that it wasn't a coin, but in fact the small charm she had given Ana and she could use this to help find her beloved!

Turning back to her map in a rush, she clutched the charm in her left hand while the right held the spellthread.

After a few twitches and spins, the needle finally started to show signs of coherence and it began to sway in a clockwise spiral. With each pass, the spiral got smaller and smaller, eventually coming to a stop and pointing to a place on the map that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. It was part of the same forested area that Ammet was currently in, but it looked to be about a day's travel, give or take, south-east of where she was now.

_So be it. A day's walk is hardly a price to pay to find my beloved Ana._

With that, Ammet packed up her things back into the bag and then set off to find her husband. 

To her surprise, the walk had only taken half a day, but where she ended up, Ammet never could have guessed. It was a Twilight Hammer encampment. Smiling to herself, she approached the camp and went up to the nearest male she could find.

"Excuse me," Ammet started, batting her eyelashes, "could you please take me to whoever is in charge here?"

The man, clad in dark purple leather garments akin to an assassin, frowned, but did not make any threatening moves.

"Who are you? What business do you have here?"

Ammet slid forward and slowly ran one of her hands gently down his chest whilst she spoke. "I just want to have a_ private_ chat with whoever is in charge." She said in a sultry tone, the smile on her face belying the fact that she was using some very subtle magical charms on the man.

For a long second, the man just stood there with a blank look on his face. Then, like someone had snapped their fingers, he fell out of the trance. "Uhh, sure, just...come with me." He sounded unsure, but Ammet knew her charms had successfully worked.

Following the charm-struck man, she entered the camp and prepared herself for the next part of the plan to find her Ana.

* * *

After the better part of an hour of finding no other tracks or even signs of recent travel, Dreadsorrow knew he had been duped. It was in that moment that something finally snapped inside the death knight - all the times he had been annoyed, lied to, attacked, all the anger bottled up, all the rage he had never released, it had finally reached breaking point. He rumbled deeply and let loose a enraged howl of fury and unconsciously released his anger in the form of an explosive cloud of glacial frost, flash freezing everything nearby and turning the ground beneath him into an icy slick.

His hands clenched into fists, Dreadsorrow started to head back to the Twilight camp with a vengeance and his anger rolled off him in waves. So powerful was it that the grass beneath his feet was frozen instantly and even plants that were more than an arm's length away wilted and turned black with frostbite. Even the trees themselves looked like they were trying their best to avoid him as they seemed to lean away and they creaked whenever he was near them, almost like they were wailing out in anguish caused by his passing frozen presence.

_They will pay for this treachery with their lives _Dreadsorrow thought coldly to himself as he advanced back to the doomed camp.

* * *

As she sat outside the command tent, waiting for an audience, Ammet started to become increasingly bored. She splayed one of her hands in front of her and inspected her nails. Turning her hand around she looked it over with a critical eye, but could see nothing wrong and put her hand back into her lap and continued to wait.

Letting out a small huff of exasperation, Ammet looked over the camp and wondered if her Ana really did come here and why. It was while she was going over the possibilities in her head that Ammet noticed someone coming out of the tree line and making their way towards the camp. Whoever they were, they strode with purpose.

Two cultists, one in leather garb and one in a robe, peeled away from the camp outskirts to stop whoever it was. They approached with placating gestures and tried to stop the man from going further. The man merely pointed at them and said something she could not hear. The two cultists started to shake their heads vigorously and one even took a step backwards.

It was what happened next that really caught her attention. Purple energy started to pool in the man's hands. Then, it began to creep up his arms and spread all over his body, completely encasing him in the pulsing magic. But it did not disappear, rather, it stayed where it was and began to quiver.

Ammet raised an eyebrow at this and focused all of her attention at the spectacle. The quivering magic covering the man's body then started to form into shapes and from what she could tell, the outline of armour. It glowed brightly for a second before it hardened and transformed into a fearsome set of plate armour. In the blink of an eye, this stranger had gone from unknown traveller to...to what exactly?

From what she could tell, he looked like a – and then it hit her like a lightning rod in an electrical storm. He looked just like a death knight she belatedly realised! The revelation unsettled her. She had covered her tracks well, no one from the Cult of the Damned should be able to find her, let alone trace her to this location. Perhaps she had left something behind, some tiny clue or shred of evidence, but no. She was certain – certain enough to risk her chances by staying here. At any rate, should she flee now, it would only draw undue attention to herself. Indeed, she would sit here and wait and not before long the death knight, whoever he was, would deal with these pathetic Twilight lunatics and after that? Well, she would cross that bridge soon enough.

Almost right on cue with her mental revelation, the death knight drew a pair of ferocious looking axes seemingly from nowhere and dispatched the two cultists before him. Now the whole camp was now alerted to his presence and intent. Several cries of alarm went up and even a few shout to some dark masters were heard and they all rushed towards the lone attacker.

"Fools." Ammet said softly to herself. _One does not simply rush a death knight with brute force._

The first wave of Twilight Hammer berserkers were closing in and were nearly to the death knight before they stopped dead in their tracks. A barricade of dagger sharp icicles had sprung from the frosted ground beneath the death knight, creating a glacial barrier of death. The berserkers, impaled on the frozen lances, tried in vain to free themselves before they perished, but fingers of permafrost were already spreading fast from their wounds, ensuring their deaths.

The death knight then braced himself and readied more unholy magic in his hands before shouting a proclamation so loud; Ammet could hear it from the other side of the camp.

"Twilight's Hammer! I am Dreadsorrow and you will all feel my WRATH!"

When the last word was spoken, he thrust his arms upward and dark tendrils of what looked like purple lightning, which Ammet knew was necromantic energy, flew into the air before arcing around and slamming into the ground, seemingly to little effect.

At first, nothing happened. An uneasy silence fell over the camp with cultists looking around for signs of Dreadsorrow's attack, but when nothing materialised and no one died, a slight ripple of laughter started to spread.

It was during this relatively calm period that the High Cultist in charge appeared from his command tent flanked by his entourage of bodyguards and advisors. Ammet turned her head to regard the High Cultist who was no more than three meters away and saw the look of surprise on his face.

_Hah! The fool has no idea how to –_

An advisor screamed and fell to the ground, face first, quickly followed by a bodyguard – to his credit did not utter a single noise. They were not dead, but something had tripped them. When Ammet saw what is was, she could not help but let a callous smile spread across her face.

Dirty, gnarled hands tipped with black claws were wrapped around the ankles of the fallen fanatics. Then, like a waterfall composed of dirt, the ground started to fall away, revealing blackened and decomposing bodies, some with shreds of cloth still clinging to them, other with swathes of yellowed bandages still stuck to them. The rest of the dirt around them fell away and the broken, rotted forms of undead ghouls burst forth, still gripping the cultist's ankles. Similar holes were appearing all over the camp as more and more ghouls clawed their way out of the ground, eager to rip their master's enemies to shreds.

With claw and tooth they tore into the defending cultists and the following battle was short, but bloody and brutal. Some cultists threw corrupting bolts of twilight energy at the ghouls, causing them to explode in a shower of rotting flesh and putrefied organs. Others were launching volleys of arrows into the marauding ghouls, turning them into grotesque parody of a pincushion.

Elsewhere, melee combatants were not fairing as well. As easy as it was to slice off a fetid arm or leg, it in no way deterred the ghoul's frenzy to kill. Soon, there was but one sword wielding cultist left and he was quickly swarmed by the ghouls, who were now free to move onward to devour the remaining ranged cultists.

A few more ghouls were felled by bolts of shadow energy, ripping through them like a fireball through paper, but they still advanced en masse. The archers, seeing how quickly the undead horde was closing, threw aside their bows and drew their shortswords and formed a loose perimeter around the casters. Unfortunately for the archers, not only did their skill lay with the bow, but they were severely outnumbered. The ravenous ghouls quickly overpowered them and quickly set upon the casters like a pack of wolves upon a flock of sheep.

Although, Ammet – still seated patiently on the crate next to command tent - did have to admire last cultist alive, the High Cultist no less, who refused to go down with the rest of his followers. He kept his ground with a longer-than-average dagger, taking swipes at any ghoul that got close enough to claw at him. One ghoul behind him managed to get close enough to rake its splintered claws across his upper left shoulder, prompting the High Cultist to whirl around and bring the dagger down into the ghoul's skull. The necrotic energies animating the ghoul bled away and it fell backwards, taking the firmly embedded dagger with it, relieving the High Cultist of his weapon. Determined to fight until the end, the High Cultist now dropped into a boxing stance and started to punch at any ghoul he could reach. Surprising, it seemed to be unorthodox enough a tactic to keep them at bay for a few seconds before one of the ghouls caught on.

As he went to punch another ghoul, it leaned back enough so that his fist was just short of connecting. Before he could pull his arm back for another punch, the ghoul made its move. Opening its reeking maw wide, it clamped down onto the fist, all the way down to the wrist and sunk its vicious, jagged teeth into the soft flesh. As rotted as the teeth were, they were still sufficiently sharp enough to pierce skin and muscle.

Then, just as realisation dawned on the High Cultist of what just happened and shock crossed is features, the ghoul started to violently shake its head from side to side, like a dog would rip apart a piece of large meat. The hand tore free, wretched off by the ghoul, leaving the bewildered High Cultist to hold his bloody stump. Before Ammet could see what happened next, the rest of the ghouls that were gathered around the High Cultist leapt forward, enclosing him and sealing his fate.

The scene reminded her of Scholomance, where the strong would thrive and the weak would be either consumed or destroyed. She turned away, no longer interested in the ghoul's grisly actions. It was then that she saw the rotted soldiers' master approaching her. He made a casual wave with his hand, as if he were shooing away an annoying insect and then, as quickly as they had risen out of the ground, the ghouls stopped moving and transformed from animated corpse into thick black dust. A wind that apparently only affected them swept through the camp, whisking most of the corpsedust away.

Brushing away a few stray particles of former ghoul that had fallen on her dress, Ammet drew back her shoulders, raised her chin and placed her hands together in her lap and patiently watched as the chilling death knight came to a stop in front of her.

"You," came the chilling voice from behind the plate helm, "are not from here."

Ammet regarded this death knight, Dreadsorrow, and decided that he would not attack her...just yet at any rate.

"No, I am not. I am just passing through." She answered.

"You are most fortunate. Had you lifted even a finger, my ghouls would have torn you to shreds." Dreadsorrow's voice did not contain humour or malice; he was just simply stating fact.

"Indeed, I thought as much. Hence why we are able to have this _enthralling_ conversation." Ammet gave him another smile.

In response, the death knight just grunted.

"So, what brings you to this pleasant place?" She asked, genuinely inquisitive.

For a long while, Dreadsorrow just stared down at her though his helm. When he did speak, it was slow, deliberate and revealed nothing.

"I am looking for someone. My search led me here and the cultists lied to me about his whereabouts. They will not do so again." A hint of humour crept into his voice with the last sentence.

Despite herself, Ammet chuckled. "No, no they won't."

Ammet also noticed Dreadsorrow's choice of words. He had said '_his_ whereabouts', not '_hers_' meaning whoever this death knight was looking her, it thankfully wasn't her.

What she said next surprised even her, for she had no idea what subconscious force compelled her to say it, only that the words were out of her mouth before she even knew what she was saying.

"May I see your face?"

Almost imperceptibly, Dreadsorrow's head jerked back, as if he was shocked by the audacity of her request. But, much to Ammet's astonishment he replied evenly before he reached up and put his hands to his helm.

"I see no reason to decline your request."

For some unfathomable reason, Ammet's stomach began to turn on itself. It was as if a thousand butterflies had materialised inside her, all flying around at the same time. Her breath quickened and the world slowed to a crawl. She saw his claw shaped gloves grip the helm and begin to lift. Leisurely, Dreadsorrow lifted the helm off his head and her eyes were glued to it as he placed it in the crook of his arm. Tentatively, her eyes crept up his body, making their way to Dreadsorrow's face. When she saw it, something in her made her gasp. She was not sure why she did it, or what the death knight would do to her, but gasp she did.

His skin was paled, his long hair a dark gray, and his eyes – those unnatural eyes that glowed with a faint blue hue – bore into her own. They looked at each other, neither moving, neither saying a word, neither breathing. Ammet realised she had been holding her breath and quickly let it go. It did not help much as she was close to hyperventilating for reasons still unknown to her.

_Why do I feel this way? What is wrong with me? Does my subconscious know something I don't? Is it that he is about to attack? Why is he looking at me like that? What the hell is going on here?_

It was Dreadsorrow that moved to break the stalemate first. He cocked his head ever so slightly and narrowed his eyes.

"You seem...familiar somehow. Have we met before?"

Ammet, her breathing now mostly back under control, wordlessly worked her mouth before gathering her words.

"Umm, I...do not think so. I...once was in the Cult of the Damned."

"Ahh, perhaps that is where I have seen you."

"So, you are not hunting down deserters?"

This drew a harsh bark - part scoff, part laugh - from the death knight. "No, I am not. I am here own my own business, not some menial errand for the Cult like a mindless lackey. I am free of the grip the Scourge once held over me and answer to no one now."

Knowing that he had no reason or intent to attack her, Ammet relaxed. Her stomach eased up and her breathing was back to normal. Before she could say anything more, Dreadsorrow spoke up.

"I must thank you though; it does feel good to have the wind through my hair again." He said as he ran his spare hand through his dark gray hair. A light wind picked up at the same time, fluttering wispy strands of the death knight's hair.

It was an insignificant action, but it managed to remind her of Anadelias. Without realising it, she slipped back in her memories.

She could see Ana's red hair and saw herself running a hand through it. He was clad in his golden armour, ready to leave her again to patrol through the Plaguelands. She was saying goodbye to him on the steps of their cottage. She kissed him passionately, one hand in his hair, the other over his shoulder. His kiss was sweet; she could taste the tea he had had with breakfast with her earlier. After their long embrace, she hugged him as they looked into each other's eyes, her green ones and his deep brown ones, before he smiled, showing his brilliant white teeth and said goodbye one more time. He reluctantly left her arms and turned and headed down the pebbled path, leaving her for what would only seem like a fraction of a moment later on. She remembered the sun shining down, catching his armour and giving him a golden aura. And then, just before the memory ended, she could remember the wind catching his auburn hair as he ran a hand through it.

Blinking several times, she came back to reality and with it, the pale, undead face of Dreadsorrow starting back at her. One of his dirty gray eyebrows was raised, whilst he looked at her with curiosity mingled with annoyance.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his rotted, yellow teeth showing.

Ammet suppressed a shudder, thinking to herself how very unlike her beloved Ana this death knight was; in fact, he was pretty much the antithesis of her husband.

"Yes, I was just...remembering, is all."

Dreadsorrow made a noise in the back of his throat that she assumed was an agreement.

"Anyway, I know my business here is concluded and I can only assume yours is as well." She casually said, changing the topic.

Dreadsorrow regarded her for a moment before answering, as if trying to see any hidden angles.

"Indeed. The sun is setting and it will be dark soon. I suggest you stay the night in one of the tents, it will be better than travelling in the forest at night."

"I...you're right, of course." Truth be told, Ammet was rather taken aback by the death knight's suggestion, it was very unlike a death knight to care for another's welfare.

_Perhaps being free of the Scourge has unforseen benefits apart from the obvious_ Ammet thought to herself.

"And what about you?" She asked.

"I have my own transport and I require no sleep. The things that dwell in forest pose no threat to me."

With that said, unholy magic thrummed around his hand and he thrust it in the direction of the ground a few meters away. The earth rumbled for a second before a massive undead warhorse burst forth, as if the earth itself had spat it out like a bad meal. Strangely graceful for such a creature, it landed on its front hooves and then the back two immediately followed after and it wheeled around to present its flank to Ammet and Dreadsorrow, as if to show off its unnatural majesty.

"My charger has no need for rest either." Was all Dreadsorrow offered as he saw Ammet stare openly at the mount. It let out a ghostly whiney and stamped one of its front hooves.

Dreadsorrow frowned as he looked over at his mount. "Nor does it have much patience." He turned back to Ammet.

"May your business be good..." He paused, waiting for her to answer his unspoken question.

"Ammet" She answered.

"Suffer well, Ammet." Dreadsorrow said, giving a very shallow bow, just enough to be polite.

She thanked him and wished him luck finding whoever he was looking for. With the pleasantries exchanged, Dreadsorrow slid his helm back over his head, completing his terrifying visage again, and walked over to the impatient warhorse and mounted up. Giving one last nod to the woman he had just met, and probably would never see again, he flicked the reins of his mount and it reared up before galloping off into the shadowy tree line, the darkness of the forest quickly enveloping rider and horse both and disappearing from sight.

As Ammet watched him leave, she pondered what she would do next. Her scrying had brought her here, but all possible leads to her husband were lying in ravaged and bloodied parts all over the camp. Letting out a sigh of vexation, she stood up and went over to one of the less ragged-looking tents and drew the flap back. A small bed with plush pillows and thick sheets greeted her invitingly.

_Well, at least I'll spend the night in comfort. For all their lunacy, these cultists sure know how to treat a lady_ Ammet thought with mirth.

Closing the flap and putting her bag down beside the bed, she collapsed onto the bed with a weariness she did not know she had accrued. The sun had since gone down and she begrudgingly peeled herself away from the bed to light a few nearby candles before gleefully returning to the bed. Letting her thoughts drift to that of her beloved husband Anadelias, she quickly fell asleep and dreams of their reunion filled her slumbering mind.

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So what do you guys n gals think? Leave a review and let me know. Ciao for now : ) : )


	12. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

_One Week Later..._

_**D**_readsorrow drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for his contact to arrive. He was in a long abandoned house on the outskirts of the Western Plaguelands. It was partially burnt down from one of hundreds of skirmishes between the Scourge and the Scarlet Crusade and not much apart from the walls was left of it.

Letting out another disgruntled sigh for what seemed like the hundredth time to him, Dreadsorrow stood up to leave after having gotten fed up of waiting for someone who was quite clearly not showing up.

Just as he strode through the charred door frame, a rich, deep voice from behind him spoke up.

"Going somewhere?" His voice had all the haughtiness someone would expect from a nobleman.

In the blink of an eye, Dreadsorrow had spun around and summoned his twin axes to his hands and held them at the ready. When he saw the man sitting in the chair he had just vacated, he turned them back into their innocuous stone forms and put them back on his belt. His clothes were simple, yet carried an unspoken air of elegance about them, from the golden trim to the multilayered tunic and travel pants. His leather boots were of a deceptively high quality too.

"I'll admit I did not expect you to show up." The death knight said, with a vague tone of surprise in his voice.

The man simply shrugged slightly and motioned for Dreadsorrow to take the seat opposite his. When he was seated, the man spoke again.

"And I did not expect to ever hear from you"

Dreadsorrow removed his helm and placed in on the table before eyeing the man up and down.

"Then it seems he have managed to surprise each other." He countered gruffly.

The man unfolded his arms and placed his hands on the table and interlaced his fingers.

"So tell me, why have I teleported all the way from Stormwind to meet you..." he looked around at what was left of the surrounding house "...here?"

Dreadsorrow's armour creaked as he leaned forward conspiratorially.

"I need your help to find someone."

The man seated across from him gave him a predatory smile.

"Well then, let us get down to business."

* * *

_Two Weeks Later..._

_**T**_he messenger quietly made his way through the large open passageways of the Hall of Reflection, his padded soles not making a sound to disturb the peace – such was practically law, one would never willingly cause undue noise the Hall of Reflection without severe repercussions. He turned down another spacious hallway and then quickly down another before he was confronted by two guards posted in front of a lush purple curtain.

Without say one word or making a single audible noise, they lowered their wicked, but still graceful looking pikes towards the messenger, who was now mere centimetres from their razor sharp tips.

Quickly, he inclined his head in acknowledgment and quietly whispered his position and need to the person whom they were guarding.

Silently, their pikes withdrew and went back to a guard stance, allowing the messenger to pass and wipe away a bead of sweat that had formed on his brow. He gently pulled aside the heavy curtain and went inside.

It was a circular room, with most of the opposite wall consisting of tall, arching windows which commanded a grand view of the land below.

Bending down on one knee, the anxious messenger waited until he was acknowledged before saying a word.

A finely manicured hand leisurely placed an extraordinary detailed wine glass onto a nearby table with a 'tink' of glass on glass. She did not turn around, but instead kept facing out the windows, looking out at the waterfalls and rivers that dotted the landscape.

"Yes?" Came a musical feminie voice that carried both command and grace, yet at the same time allowed a hint of arrogance to seep through. It was the voice of an authoritative and influential woman who was used to having power. The sort of voice one expected a queen to have.

The messenger swallowed before answering. "My Lady, I bring news of your nephew."

The only indication that she had heard was the slightest turn of her head towards the man. "And?"

A few more beads of sweat started to trickle down his brow. "I...regret to enlighten you that he is dead. He was killed in a skirmish with the Scourge." Squeezing his eyes shut and preparing for the worst, he waited for her response as his words hung in the air like a heavy mist lingering in the morning sun, refusing to go away.

"This is the revered Hall of Reflection; I will not be raising my voice in here." She stated curtly at a moderate volume. "So apparently he is dead. Do we have any confirmation?"

"My Lady, our scouts and spies, both without knowledge of the other, corroborate each other's reports." The messenger verified.

Her head lowered a touch upon hearing this. "So it is true then. My nephew is lost.

She turned back to the windows, presenting the messenger with the back of her head again. When she spoke next, it was with sadness, not anger or fury.

"Get one of my aides to fetch Lord Alevious and have him meet me in the Hall of Prosperity within the hour. Then, tell General Whills he will be joining the Countess of Glyhorn for dinner."

The messenger stood up and put a fist to his chest and bowed. "Yes My Lady, it will be done right away." With that, he quietly slipped out of the room, leaving the Countess alone again.

Looking out at the landscape below, the Countess held her composure and would do so until she was in her personal quarters. She did however, utter a single word, so quietly, that even she barely heard it; 'Anadelias'.

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So, my awesome readers, this is the end for now! I know I kinda left it open at the end, but remember that this is only Part One, so it helps to have a lead in for Part Two (well, I think so anyway)! Anyhoo, drop a review and let me know what your musings are : ) Ciao for now! : )


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